To Becky

Lonely is sometimes doing the right thing, even when it’s not popular.

Even when it’s shirked,
laughed at,
sneered at,
tucked in.

Lonely is sometimes knowing the people you thought you knew never knew you,
didn’t ask, didn’t care.

It’s hard waking up one morning and questioning what’s happening around you, that those figments you thought you knew were wasting away into the ethos, withering on less food than concentration camp survivors, showing brittle smiles and clapping you on bony shoulderblades.
It’s hard asking, “when did things change?” and seeing that, while the technicolor turned to grey and morbid rust, nobody else seemed to notice she was eating too little.

You spoke.
You were silenced.
But you spoke.

Thank you.