Into was the best way for you to come home to me. Our first day in May was so amazing. I don’t think you could ever get a good friend. The first thing you ever did was ask her what she does. You are a good person and you can do anything. The first time I had looked at my phone I was wondering if you would like me.

Bittersweet sugar ice, sitting in the corner,

isn’t it nice?

Ruby specks of golden daydream

drifting by, too often, lately

Waiting there, for just one piece,

one slice, a bite, at least.

Hours and hours, sitting in the corner

waiting my turn, wanting to order.

Sitting in the corner,

and now it’s all over.

The clock chimes dimly

one more time, colder.

The ice turns to flowers,

and the flowers to sunshine,

sunshine to spices,

and brittle leaves falling,

as the clock chimes again,

and here I still stand

Waiting in the corner,

as snow falls bolder,

waiting my turn,

but the night has fallen,

and the stars now burn.

Still standing, still waiting,

as the soil freezes over.

Finally getting a single little taste,

and finally bringing a plate to your grave.

Maybe we could have shared words instead of waiting for a change.

Maybe I could have spoke up

instead of letting your time slip away.

Today I will be back in the room. The room where my son died. The room where he chose to take his last breath. I can’t imagine what was going through his mind in the room. Why did he feel so alone? So alone that he saw no future. He ended his life in the room. Now I must go back in the room. I will sort through his clothes, his trophies, and our memories searching the room for answers to all the questions tornadoing around in my head? Why did he choose to die, why didn’t he talk to me, what did I do wrong, why couldn’t I see. . . I place my shaking hand on the knob, turn it and go back in the room.

Prompt: Lovely and I know you don’t need to be a good idea to me about it but I don’t know what to say that man is drinking water and eating bread in the past few days ago

Bread and water. It is all my father has allowed me to feed him the past few days since the incident. His shoulders were once strong and they have carried thousands of pounds over a life time that he did not choose to have. At a young age he was chosen. In front of him was an entire life mapped out perfectly, and he was not to stray. And he didn’t. So he took a career he didn’t care for and married a woman he didn’t love. He could live with his own unhappiness as long as it kept his parents even faintly satisfied. He is happy for me in his own way, but he needs to mourn the life he could have had. Our marriage will happen because I will choose happiness where he could not. I will choose to celebrate the engagement of any child I have instead of isolating myself to my old wooden rocking chair thinking of what could have been. For him, I will wait. I cannot tell you how long, but if you will hold my hand and wait with me I will love you the rest of my life. At his age, the weight he carries now sits on his back. I will not be the feather that floats down to sit atop his existing concrete. I will not burden him with my feather because it will cross his breaking point. His knees would finally buckle, his spine would finally snap, and he would reach a place he could never return from. I will hold my feather for a little while longer until he can shake the concrete that haunts him.