There are fewer of us now. We’re down by one. And I have less to say than expected.
I thought by now I’d be up and writing again. Then death came, stealing my brother when I wasn’t looking.
My words chased after them, but haven’t returned. I sit in darkness, waiting.
How do I find my place in this new world of fewer siblings? Do I count down from the top, skipping over one like hopscotch, chalk outline around a missing body?
We are fewer. I am less.
The months tiptoe by, not wanting to wake me. I wish they would stop and sit with me a while.
It’s all too fast, this life. I lie down and watch the clouds through dirty windows.
What can I say? We are fewer now. I am less.