When I woke up you were in my room, reading something from my desk.

At first I thought you were reading, but then you were just staring at a family polaroid of ours. That photo was taken eight years ago.

I asked why you're here.

But you ignored me, though asked where my parents had gone, you asked what happened to her.

I can't believe you're asking about a time that feels so long ago. A time when we're okay. Our families, too. A glimmer of hope seared through me, but then faded as soon as you stared into my eyes. Something like hurt.

I stayed quiet; no answer, so did you.

I was thinking about finally telling the truth. I've always wanted to but times have changed.

"Soon enough I'll be gone too."

But before I can say it out loud, you shook my trance and muttered, "I'm sorry."