Whether It Was A Song,

Whenever You Made A Choice, Especially One You'd Been Resisting, It Always Affected Everything Else, Some In Big Ways, Like A Tremor Beneath Your Feet, Others In So Tiny A Shift You Hardly Noticed A Change At All. But It Was Happening.

Call It Chicken Salad

All We Had Was Her Room, Her Stories, And The Quiet That Settled In As We Tried In Vain To Spread Ourselves Out And Fill The Space She'd Left Behind.

It Wasn't About Being Happy Or Unhappy. I Just Didn't Want To Be Me Anymore.

The Worst Part Was That I Had Things I Wanted To Tell My Mother, Too Many To Count, But None Of Them Would Go Down So Easy. She'd Been Through Too Much, Between My Siters-i Could Not Add To The Weight. So Instead, I Did My Best To Balance It Out, Bit By Bit, Word By Word, Story By Story, Even If None Of Them Were True.