I take my hand back, like a leaf letting go. It hurts too much to hang on. So why does it hurt so much to let go?

I know so many words. It's perplexing to come across so many I don't.

My life's a tangle of past and present, like two separate puzzles with their pieces tumbled together. Nothing fits.

My emotions swirl like leaves caught in the breath of a dust devil, and the only thing I can seem to hold onto is the anger.

My sister don't talk much. When she does, it's only to me, in moth-winged whispers, and only when we're alone.