I stripped the paint from her room—lavender shedding on beige carpet.
My hands are raw and calloused. You enter, unshaven, coffee in hand. What the hell are you doing?
But I continue. I no longer recognize your voice, no longer know what it was like to be held by you, before I lost her.
You grab one of the scrapers from me, as if you can undo the damage. Misty sunlight streams in, bathing you in golden light.
She left indelible marks we will never fully understand.
I linger in the shadows, disassembling her crib until you leave me alone.
A subtle description of the utter depths of sadness. Sustained brilliance.
A tragedy beautifully told.
Heartbreaking. Grief takes us in many ways.
Well written. The impacts of trauma are many
Heartrending story of loss. Very nicely done!
How deeply sad, and real. Well done.