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.