I realize that now
“f**k”
I’m standing in the doorframe of my dead mother’s room, covered in vomit, by a guy that I love.
He stares at me for a while apologizing over and over again, and I’m just staring at him. I’m staring at him, because I’m too scared to look past him. Too scared to look into her lit room, that’s been untouched for so long. Now that light coats it, everything comes back to me.
Her walls are cream white, there’s a giant window opposite her bed. Her bed looks as if it floats, as if it’s a white cream cloud. Her nightstand with her coasters, and her cream faux rug that stains strawberry still lies beneath our feet. Her ceiling…There are origami cranes painted black hanging from separate strings, some long enough to touch us. There’s also a giant circle light in the cel
