fear grows in my belly, filling up the chasm wrought with the memories of a childhood spent underneath water. it was the safest place to ever exist, forged from pillows and blankets taken from our bedroom because forts are made to stop the chaos.
and the turmoil.
and the encroaching siege of relentless fighting—screams in the open space echoed, and we held our breaths because we were hearing the wars fought by unloving adults, building from the base of their throats until words were exchanged, leaving wounds and blisters and open cuts.
their war has torn this family apart. our parents have failed us time and time again.
i am scared because i know that i have been a burden to my sister—what am i without her?
(what could she have been without me?)
her dreams spill in the ruins, gluing this fragmented home together.
she is a shard, sanded down, until she fits into wherever she must.
she is an anchor, wading us through every storms until we break into still waters.
waiting. never ending.
