Thursday, April 29, 2010

The Vanishing Act (blindsided)


We pick a day on the calendar and circle it, then count down till we get there. Then we get there. What happens now? What do I do?

We're counting down and recounting and going and continuing on this road and if we just stayed on this train no one would ever know.

No one knows we're here.



Why'd you leave? No one asked you to, except me. But that was a secret. It was a secret wish I made to myself, never even said aloud. Did you know? I could never even touch you. I think I made you cry. I made my grandma cry once. Once again it was my own fear, because I live my life in fear. I'm terrified of everything you loved. I can't plant tulips in the garden, I can't sew, or pick up seashells on the beach. I lost your letters, I lost your card, I lost your scarves, and your wedding dress when we moved. Children scare me because they have things I never did, and never will. And if my child hates me too? And if I vanish just like you? And if I'm still so mad that I don't do it just to spite you, just to end it here? 'Cause I'm the last one, I'm the last kid you ever had.


Why is life so fragile?

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