“You aren’t living, you are just surviving.”

“Please talk to me.”

“You know you can tell me anything?”

“You scared me.”

I’m scared

I scare myself

Surviving isn’t living

But I’m alive

I miss her.

Not her.

Younger me.

She fought

She didn’t believe

Said she wouldn’t make it to sixteen

Now watching

As I drag myself to eighteen next

I’m trying

I’m hurting

I’m angry

I’m done.

Is she proud I made it?

Or upset that I didn’t listen

And made it past

The sixteen deadline

I won’t ever know

Because she is gone

And I hope

She won’t take me with her