Theea
see the city and the ocean mist
I let a smile flicker across my mouth—quick as a struck match. My nonna was a tough woman, I learned. No frills, all spine. Fierce and protective; of course she didn’t care for my dad. “I really liked her. I got to meet her too.”
He glances around and I follow his gaze through the room’s dim light, everything stitched back together but still a little threadbare—the dull paint, the fogged windows. I wonder what his eyes make of it now, what three years have done to the picture of what we were. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. For three years I’ve carried this small, stubborn hope that he was seeing me at all—seeing me and feeling proud.
What is it he thinks now?
His brow tugs into a knot. He brings up Mom—her absence—and the disappointment in his voice lands like a stone dropped in my chest. I tip my face away as the old guilt tightens hard and mean.
"I couldn't do it anymore," I whisper. "The way we kept hiding. Running from everyone who could love us, running because we were afraid and..."
I bite my lip. I don’t want him to feel what she felt—feels. But they’d tucked me under a glass bell, all good intentions and no air. Kept me safe, yes, but small. Kept me in the dark so I’d live to see the light.
"She wasn't ready, but I was. I am. She stayed close, but I wanted to try and make it here, even if she didn't want to." My eyes stay on the floorboards, counting scuffs. "Then I figured out how lonely it was without her. And how horrible I felt. I almost went back but... then I met people. Family. Friends, Dad, real friends. Not just people in passing anymore. I'm even apart of a guild."
I feel myself shrink, shoulders curling in like a wilting flower seeking shade. "And when she did show up, finally... I've got a life. And I'm afraid of being stifled again."
Tears gather, a tight ache cinching my ribs. "But I left her all alone. For months."
He glances around and I follow his gaze through the room’s dim light, everything stitched back together but still a little threadbare—the dull paint, the fogged windows. I wonder what his eyes make of it now, what three years have done to the picture of what we were. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. For three years I’ve carried this small, stubborn hope that he was seeing me at all—seeing me and feeling proud.
What is it he thinks now?
His brow tugs into a knot. He brings up Mom—her absence—and the disappointment in his voice lands like a stone dropped in my chest. I tip my face away as the old guilt tightens hard and mean.
"I couldn't do it anymore," I whisper. "The way we kept hiding. Running from everyone who could love us, running because we were afraid and..."
I bite my lip. I don’t want him to feel what she felt—feels. But they’d tucked me under a glass bell, all good intentions and no air. Kept me safe, yes, but small. Kept me in the dark so I’d live to see the light.
"She wasn't ready, but I was. I am. She stayed close, but I wanted to try and make it here, even if she didn't want to." My eyes stay on the floorboards, counting scuffs. "Then I figured out how lonely it was without her. And how horrible I felt. I almost went back but... then I met people. Family. Friends, Dad, real friends. Not just people in passing anymore. I'm even apart of a guild."
I feel myself shrink, shoulders curling in like a wilting flower seeking shade. "And when she did show up, finally... I've got a life. And I'm afraid of being stifled again."
Tears gather, a tight ache cinching my ribs. "But I left her all alone. For months."
i wish you could be here for this
