The pit in my stomach is so deep it swallows up the only words I could have used to describe the feeling. The feeling of being…no, there are no words.
“Be safe,” my dad says. “Those trucks will knock the shit out of you.” I smile. Life already has. Give it to me.
Give it to me. What I need. What do I need? I wish I knew. All I see is the word “CUNT” spray painted on the floor of the bus. I’ll miss the Bay’s grittiness and I’ll miss the way the wind whips my hair when I go out on the pier right before a storm hits. I’ll miss the sound the train makes and I’ll miss the home I never had a chance to make.
Still, there are no words.