It was the chewed up pencil stubs.

The laundry littering the white room, towering

textbooks with dogeared pages

A highlighter drying up because the cap was hidden somewhere

I'll find it in a month

It was the shoddy lightbulbs that burst with pops

Frustrating my father, making him mutter prices

As he swept up the shards.

It was the cereal slowly cementing to the breakfast bowls

The dusty carpet, the take-out cartons

It was the not-done job.

It was the staying very, very still because nothing

Nothing was pulling you in any direction. It was forgetting

to brush my hair, forgetting to respond to emails, it was stopping mid sentance.

It was that, and it wasn't. It was numbness, like my heart fell asleep

And I could sense the pins and needles, the static. It was blinding, deafening pain.

It was quiet, it was her shadow.