Our words today are
Delible- capable of being deleted
The scent of honeysuckle hung in the air. How she wished the memory was delible and not preserved in its entirety, but there were too many things to remind her.
She could still hear the robin simmer in its calling, see her standing on tiptoe, then the muffled cry as she fell, too young and excited to recognise the danger of leaning out of the window to watch.
She had been so little, and the purple scarf had affixed itself neatly around her throat, a glaring contrast to her alabaster skin.