That day, stop lights flashed, the light show of the night.
Tires squealed in the distance.
Horns and screams: the chirping of city birds.
The streetlights melted yellow into the black sky, like butter in the pan, sizzling with a pleasant fluorescent hum.
Flags fluttered in the nighttime breezes, wilting with none to salute them.
But, I just cannot stop thinking about the way you held your teddy bear that night.
At the tips of your fingers, loose, but not forgotten.
Who would have guessed that would be the last time you would ever hold him?
I am locked in your doll house.
Sitting patiently on tiny plastic furniture that you will never re-arrange again.
I am paralyzed on your twin bed, dressed in purple cotton sheets that almost still smell of you.
It almost feels like you’re here again.
I cannot let go of your voice.
I grope wildly in an empty world,
not really knowing what I expect to latch on to.
Not knowing what prayers to say to bring you back.