At Least I Had Her

It’s been a month since she died. One month since I said goodbye to the last of my family, and I don’t even know if that’s true. It wasn’t easy getting in the city but luckily people could stop violence for a dead girl, but it still took me a few hours to get through the bubble. The drive from the bridge to Toronto took about an hour, but to me, it was a reminder of the journey I took with her. They buried her body where they buried a few others that died in the crowd, close to Lake Ontario. They put me in foster care, as a result of of course having no parents.

My foster parents have let me visit the grave site every night since I moved in with them a couple weeks ago. Right now, I lay on the ground near her grave as I look up at the stars that are so clear because of the darkness that is left across the lake, into New York. I say out loud, “Why couldn’t the sky have been this clear when we were walking what felt like 100 miles a day?” And it’s almost like I see her answer, seeing a star twinkle and shine in the pitch blackness. It felt as though she was saying “Because we weren’t there yet. Now we’re here and the stars are even brighter than when we were in Tennessee”. Now she was brighter than when we were in Tennessee.