Aya,

Your A starts suddenly, is screamed instinctively for pleasure and pain both, surprising us with its power.
As you do.
Did.

Sharp minds make sharp wits. Yours left those around you roaring with laughter.

Left them.
They are left.

The world laughs less now. Your family barely at all.

For you, ya Aya

After the sharpness of your A
...yyyyy; your open smiles, soft-strong hugs, care.
Sincerity and Gentleness.

Older than your years.

Soft exhalation skips back into an A but oh what a different A,
what a happy, laughing, dancing A like the purple M&M on your jumper
Flicking herself up merrily while at the same time forcing herself out,
ensuring she is heard despite her natural shyness.

Like your name, you were more than we knew, Aya. You could have been….

....the many things you could have been and done had that bullet not ripped through your body and you fought. For two weeks, you fought. You were a warrior, Aya. In a war you did not want and did not ask for. Shot by a man who did not know you. For, had he looked into your eyes he would have seen his foolishness thrown down his weapon and bowed at your feet.

I knew you not, Aya. But I will hold you.

Aya. Shot by a sniper in Homs. Fought her injuries for two weeks. Died 19th March 2015 from her wounds.