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.