I knew it.  I could  just tell.   Especially when our dad gave us those whistles — those emergency whistles — from Tiffany.   Still have mine on a keychain — on a hook — on a wall — so I don’t lose it.

Then he had everything in the house repaired — little things — teensy things — things only he would see.  Things — we’d never get fixed.

That outside spigot still drips.  He left that on purpose, I think.

Hoped it would move along faster.  It did.

So selfish — so foolishly selfish — thinking it was all about me — a cotton candy rain cloud — thinking I was twinkling — in the dark.

Maybe I’ve changed.  Not sure, really.

Haven’t yet learned the art of goodbye.