a childhood ripped away so quickly i felt it's whisk like a smack to the face.
the grey lines stopped appearing on the wall after four foot one and christmas presents piled up in the untouched room you once brought life to.
once upon a time, we had just enough, perhaps a little less, and now we have more, always extras.
i can feel your warm hands as they sit neatly in mine. i can see your contagious laughter and the lines you get on your forehead.
report cards stopped coming in, as did paintings and mother's day cards. toys stayed as dolls and crayons, never did they graduate to more. our house looks so innocent, but the impurities speak otherwise.
your little boots still sit at the door, red and shiny and untouched. a baby coat hangs above them, mud covering the bottom half in entirety.
and i will continue to sit on the rocking chair in the corner of your bedroom, cradling your blanket so ****** tightly it's fibres embed themselves in me,
for all that started off as miracles fade too soon.