Part III · Exposure
Echoes
December 20th, 2024
I haven’t eaten since November.
Days blurred to weeks, then months—
holding it together for them,
bursting at the seams.
They had pizza.
I watched my waist.
Your voice echoed through me—
visceral, vivid, complete.
Much like my nightmares.
It feels wrong without you here.
But it’s right.
Even if it hurts to say.
The boys are doing better
with you gone,
even as I silently break.
And for the first time,
I think we might be okay—
even if I still can’t eat.
I’m always sick to my stomach.
Too sick to eat.
And that’s okay.
I’ve learned to live with that.
I’ve lost weight.
Maybe you’d be proud.
I’d hope.