Memoirs of a Lost Girl -Part one

She sat on the warm lap of her Grandmother who smelt of lavender and soap, possibly Gardenia. The woman was reading her a story and she had an accent. It was a fairy tale. Her favourite. The Little Match girl by Hans Christian Anderson or was it The Little Mermaid. Her memory fails her for a split second. Not sure but it was special. She remembers cuddling up to the pink softness of cashmere and twiddling the gold cross around her chubby fingers. The comfort and security overwhelming. Needy. She was loved. She was happy. Sleepy and purring.

This is now but a dream. Distant and lost.
The moment passed but memories remain.
She yearns to touch and smell her again.