I remember her
Running up and down the bridge next to our house at midnight
I remember her screaming
I remember her body, almost lifeless, as we tried to pull her out of bed every morning
I remember all the things that were said when she wasn't around to hear
I remember agreeing with them, then hating myself for it
I remember the back of her head on a staircase when I was twelve
I remember her diaries
Our mother crying while asking me for advice

I remember all the bad days
Bur I cannot find the one that quenched her fire
The one that made her whist