They won’t even know your name.
You were taken in the daylight,
the clouds’ breath trembling against your freckles
as they sat in the sky, watching,
unable to save you.
You were found, bare and empty,
soft current of the creek brushing against your skin.
The water whispered, “It’s over,
They’ll be okay.”
Across the country, I was screaming.
A plane ticket and a small community,
and at last, we were together.
My palm pressed against the grass
while I wondered how I’d gotten this far.
You’re gone, you’re gone,
and they don’t even know your name.
“She,” they whisper, “daughter, sister,”
no matter how hard I try.
They claim to tell your story,
but they only speak half-truths.
I wish, I wish, I wish they would listen
but to them, I only speak half-truths.
Eighteen years old.
A child of the stars and the rain.
Something awful tore you from this terrible world
and they will never know your name.
Prince of Stars | @faeriescribe