I know they wrapped you up in all your high school portraits and told the story of your old life, but I remember you. I remember you as you were.
She may not have it beat yet, but she would, the mother told herself. She knew she would find the solution — she just hadn’t yet. She knew she could get better, she just wasn’t better yet. As squelched were the screams of her soul, there was something she could hear. No, she couldn’t hear her soul at all. But this she could feel.