you were silent all day today and every time i tried to strike up a conversation, you would either shrug or ignore me. you’re doing that with everyone, too. not just me.
your mother tried to take you down town to the police department today, to further investigate why you went missing and why you won’t tell us anything, but you locked yourself in your room and didn’t come out until your mother gave up and the sun was already down.
what happened in those months you left that left you so troubled?
i see the way your fingers tremble and you bite your lip more often. they’re cracked and scarred. are you cracked and scarred somewhere else, too?
everyone says time is the answer but it’s been almost a month since you have been home and nothing.
nothing.
nothing.
nothing.
i missed you so damn much, and now you’re here and i still miss you. i was so used to having you around and when you left, it felt like my world caved in and everyone was saying you were dead. but you proved them wrong and you’re alive. but are you breathing?
i’m terrified. i’m terrified you’ll end up leaving again because you seem more distant and i’m worried. my mother says that’s normal and try not to pressure you into talking. wait until you’re ready, she says.
i held your hand today. you flinched lightly, but didn’t let go. you just squeezed tighter and i knew at that moment that you were here and you’re okay.
like we are.
we’re okay.
at least, that’s what i hoped for.
