winter road

Walking back through the small park path, a few snowflakes fell around bare trees, some melting into the still, black pond.

I think of the mistake I made that was replaying in my mind. It always felt the same no matter who I was with. It always felt like I could have done something differently. I wish I treated my brother differently. ‘There was nothing you could do.’ Why wasn’t I enough, why did he want to leave me and die? A weak response said, it wasn’t about you. It’s not all about you. I’m crying now. Someone comes behind me and I wipe my tears on my gloves, tear lines down my cheeks making a rorsarch blot on the soft felt.

I don’t like waking up and hearing nothing. I don’t like when I have to fall asleep and I hear nothing. I used to think silence was a relief, a safe place. Now I am scared of it because it will tell me the truth: he is gone, my little moon.