...know her long enough or well enough to find out what her demons were. I even forgot her name until a few minutes ago, but I remember her well. When I knew her she ran a tiny café I inhabited for a few weeks on a small island on the far side side of the world, themed for two cultures not her own. We spoke a bit whilst she made the coffee and wiped the tables. There was a sadness about her, a melancholy of autumn skies that whispered of unbelonging and haunted thoughts. She carried a striking physical presence and wore a mask that like her little shop, seemed at odds with the local vernacular.
At that point in my life I felt I recognised a fellow traveller searching for their place, so perhaps this is why I find it so profoundly tragic to learn her demons finally caught her. So long JS, I hope your spirit has found its home.