Rising

We all kept secrets, though I was often the one that carried the most. They hung over our heads like great thunder clouds, buzzing with energy and electricity, visible only to us and, even then, hardly noticeable unless you looked long enough. We hardly appeared to each other long enough to truly make sense of who the others were, but there were several that I remember distinctly—ones with constant clouds, secrets that followed them like swarms of bees chased after meddlesome children, others that flickered in and out, showing that they were weak and hardly ever truly there. One that I saw everywhere, a reflection standing behind me in shop windows, through thick foliage during the summer months, his eyes pained and eyebrows drawn together, confused or worried or some other emotion that I could never place. He followed me before I began to follow him.

Hard work, it was.