It’s pitch black again as you’re driving home. The wind whirls around the world outside, the radio static barely drowns out the noises in your head. When did it get so loud? Each thought screams at you. Reminders of all of the mistakes you’ve buried in the backyard. Did you forget what happened the last time you dug them up? All of the ghosts coming out to play. The skeletons in your closet morphing into bodies of the people you used to love. People who used to love you. People who have found warmer homes elsewhere. It’s cold this time of year but never as cold as it is beneath your ribs. Drives like this feel like forever when no one’s riding shotgun in the passenger side. The laughter now an echo from the back of your mind. When was the last time someone told you it was going to be okay? Or has it been so long that the word “okay” isn’t a feeling but a faraway place you uprooted from the day your mom stopped coming home. Trauma has many names but never this many faces. A deer jumps in your path and you almost step on the gas instead of your breaks.