4400
She Asked Me Why
She asked me if I prayed.
I told her,
"Yeah.
Just not for me."
She frowned.
"Why?"
I never answered really.
How do you explain
that every time I reached
for something of my own,
I buried it?
Before her...
There was Shyann.
Everywhere she danced,
the room forgot itself.
For a few minutes,
the world wasn't so heavy.
I used to watch her
and think,
Maybe life ain't finished with me yet.
Her dream
became mine.
I started believing
I could build something
without losing pieces of myself.
We never made it to prom.
I kept flowers
beside her picture.
There was a little ballerina
on the music box.
She'd spin
every time I wound it.
I used to let it play
until the room felt empty again.
Years passed.
Then I met someone
who smiled
like she hadn't heard
what the world had done to me.
She was patient.
Gentle.
She kept showing up
until I forgot
I was trying not to love her.
I bought another ring.
Funny thing about hope...
It always feels
like it finally learned
your name.
The phone cut out.
I remember saying,
"Hello?"
Like she'd answer
if I asked again.
The streets were already lit
by the time I got there.
Glass.
Sirens.
Blood.
I prayed.
Not for me.
Just let her live.
They wouldn't let me see her.
I wasn't family.
The ring in my pocket
disagreed.
Her mother cried hard enough
for both of us.
That's the last time
I cried.
The last time
I spoke to God.
I buried her
with the ring.
And the note
she was supposed to read
on a better day.
Sometimes...
I still hear her asking,
Why don't you pray for yourself?
I guess
because every time
I asked God
for a future,
He gave me
a memory instead.
