Running from the daylight, as if it were a poison that could pierce my skin like a needle and disrupt me, the nighttime was what I wanted. All of the stars that I could count and imagine moving closer together and pinching as if I were a god that could change the stars into the things I once saw and idolized. I kept running from the daylight, and stayed hidden within my room within the attic in the home where we resided three moves ago. The attic where my brother and I stayed was filled with a silence that could chill even the toughest of hearts; it was almost as if we had our own atmosphere. The air within our little floor of the house had a thick air that had constant warmth to it. We never left unless it was to run across the street to do an errand for our grandmother. We’d leave our sanctuary and hear words of encouragement and cheerful understandings from family. They came over to make sure we were all okay, as if they truly cared when our mother had passed. People we never knew slowly began to flock in day after day. We never acknowledged their presences. They think apologizing to us and giving us poorly prepared meals that hold whispers of “those boys are probably crying their eyes out.” As if they know us. All of these dumb people, assumptions and food ready to be handed over to us. These things will never fill our souls, but it always seemed like lying in bed and talking across tone another about things would help us, as we talked I’d always look out the window on my side and counts the windows that. All of the pictures that are throughout my home today are the only memories that I cannot recall as if the black spots within my mind. Maybe I’m not that same boy I see myself as these ten years ago. I like to believe that I don’t remember so many things because I’ve blocked off the pain and bad things from my mind and memories.