i am so scared of this.
i’m not use to trying like this, being like this–completely uncomfortable. and i’m sorry; i never asked you what you felt like, all those years ago, when you left home. and you had no one there to greet you on the other side. no one you knew who spoke like you, who grew up like you, who saw days like you saw them. but you still left, knowing of the loneliness you would have.
and you did it for me, and j and c and c. so that we might wander a little less alone.