Posthumous

Some days are like that, difficult to get started and a long uphill battle to get anything put together. I give in and pick up a book, instead. It was a birthday present; I loved how many books I got for my birthday this year.

A few hours later, I lie in bed, tears slowly trickling down my cheek and landing on my college sweatshirt, so worn from all these years that have passed since I was a freshman. Tears get stuck on my glasses so I can't see. I have to take breaks from reading, because my eyes are blurred. I hear my roommate and wish that she will go out for a while so I can have this moment uninterrupted. She does. I can.

The years gather in piles. The words unsaid gather in covered holes in the ground. How much we pretend not to see, how much we carry on within us.

One day I will make you proud. One day I will say all those things and you will know that the fault was not yours, nor mine. One day I will explain to you that this is what life is.

But I will try to wait, until it's too late for you to hear it.