She Was Fading

Linger.

Along with the snow, our silence is beginning to melt. Caroline has softened up and talks. She’s fourteen (but she still looks twelve). She’s been in and out (but mostly in) the hospital since she could remember. She doesn’t go to school and lately all she does is fold paper cranes.

And she’s dying. We don’t talk about it, but it lingers in each word we speak.