Still, I don’t know

You ask if I know what your going through.But I don’t. I don’t know what your going through. At your age I was taking care of grandma. I never really let knowing I was growing up get in my way. I’ve always obsessed over my weight, if I was pretty enough, or the number of followers I had on Twitter. But never about growing up. It was kind of a thing I just did. When mom said, Lydia you have to grow up and help take care of grandma, that’s what I did, I took on babysitting, cooking, and taking care of grandma in the midst of doing my schoolwork. I never thought about it. Mom said grow up, for grandma Lydia, grow up for grandma. So I did.

You turn the light off sniffling
You think I can’t hear it, but its all I hear now
The house is quiet but my ears are filled with the sound of your pain
The street lights are on, and although they usually bring comfort, there’s to much pain for that
A car passes outside the window, its engine quickly fading into the distance, and I wonder is that how you feel? Quickly fading away?

What do I do, what do I say
Should I break this silence in this room where your laughter is now a far memory, maybe a dream
I don’t know what you need or who to tell
Or what to tell if I did
Should I go back to my book and hope this passes quickly
Should I get you a glass of water and say it will be okay
I know I say not to tell me, that’s only because I know I won’t know what to say and because of it I’m sorry but I still don’t know what to do

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