mullock

i used to see your face when i closed my eyes. sometimes, i saw you in the faces of others, too. a glance or a smile. a few flickering seconds, and i was reminded of you, and it was like you'd never left. never turned cold and left on a journey meant only for you. dad said you used to smell like hopes and dreams, but i guess they broke. grandmother says you smelled of self-hatred and i wish i didn't understand. she says she saw this coming, she saw this coming, and i wonder why she didn't stop it. and then i think, well, maybe she couldn't. i don't have many memories of you. this makes me sad. dad tells stories about when you were little,