inscriptions

In between the lines of this page I inscribe my own reality. Where you are still alive and mom no longer cries her self to sleep at night. Where she doesn’t have to catch herself when she so routinely utters your name, like she did just the other day. In the life span of these sentences you are here, holding my hand, stroking my hair and smiling as I lie in your lap, listening proudly as I go on and on about college life and my plans for graduation.