It is time.
The fog is thick, magnifying the light from the moon. I don’t need a flashlight this morning.
She’s 16 today, but I feel like she’s been 16 for so long.
It smells like harvest.
I keep reminding her that at the end of the day, we could, but then, what would happen?
She says she has another friend, which brings the number to 29.
A pile of warm, gooey brownies, a gold candle, and a circle of sweaty girls in the weight room singing.
All the momentum, but I’m still missing one piece.
The words behind the words.
Noooooo. Not the mouthguard.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Fifty-Six
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