The Things We Leave Behind

__
____

Two words suspended in the air, said from a voice thick with tears. Another voice asking what is wrong—are you all right? A clock loudly ticking in the hallway, close enough to the kitchen door to be heard, assaulting my eardrums.

Those two words imprinting the backs of my eyelids like written text: Times New Roman font, size twelve.

Losing my footing, breaking in half, crumbling to the floor, and crying out for yesterday when blue was still a color in her hair, not red blood pouring from a gaping wound.

Oh god, Noah had said. Rosie’s dead.
__
__
____