the first time my father asked
if i was depressed,
i was twelve.
hugging my ribs with arms so thin
keeping my eyes
on the dawning light, hoping
a boy, or summer, or school
would consume my mind instead
of that sadness,
at the time still strange to me.
i said no, of course not.
i laughed.
i think about that girl a lot
sometimes. i don’t know
if i could comfort her.
things have changed since then
but at 21, my eyes
are still fixed upon that light,
only so much more tired.
in a room somewhere out of sight,
we exist,
my younger self and i.
she sits with her back to me
and stares out of the window.
i watch the fear leak out of her
as she watches the sunrise.
my heart breaking, just a little,
at her innocent silhouette.
in a chamber of imagined light,
we sit,
my younger self and i.
she touches her grief
with a tentative finger.
i cling tightly to mine.
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