It's that time again, for frantic footsteps, and tight eyes with intensity.

Her sanity flees with stress, the season, and at the sight of a lemon tree.

Where does the spirit go when the mind can no longer take care of it?

I like to imagine it escapes to comfort, care, and love me, just as any good imaginary friend should.

While her body was left behind to scare, confuse and haunt me, just as any good lunatic could.

A secret hidden behind our family doors, sealed within our lips and deep within our hardened hearts.

To cry about it as a child only left me drowning in a puddle of my own tears.

All alone, to blame, and taught to keep in the pain and to hide the knee weakening fear. Because if she caught wind of what we truly believed about her, if we wept, it would surely be that time again. For frantic footsteps.

Jennifer
California, USA