On the Clock

When I hear her sniffling and hiccuping into my father’s chest, I feel pieces of my heart break off and shatter into puffs of smoke. When she waveringly nudges me aside when I try to hug her and tell her that I love her, parts of my brain go numb as if they were starting to feel the effect of an ice bath. When she holes herself up in the basement trying to distract herself from her own family, I want to screech and wail and kick and hit and shake and drop to my knees and console her. But she craves to be alone. My tears never stop. I blame myself. I remain lost in the sea of unspoken words and there are no lighthouses in sight. There is nobody to guide me because I am the reason she is desolate.






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