I was never good at composing songs on the piano, but this song was the lullaby of my existence. I played it over and over, trying to figure out the next part, but my brain reached its capacity. It was sad, simple, wistful. It was nostalgia in a song. At least to me. It was MY song, not even my mother heard it. I had my headphones plugged and the world unplugged. If only I could live like that forever.

My mother asked, “Hey what are you playing?” like a child asks when she hears giggling from a genius hiding spot. I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell her anything. I was a bank of secrets and she was the beggar. If I told her everything, overwhelmed her with the wealth of confidentiality, she would collapse, unable to function. Yet, I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted her to be more than a beggar of truth.

I will write two letters… possibly books in the near future. One filled with the things I never told my mother. One filled with the things I never told my father. I’m not sure when I’ll give it to them, but hopefully someday.