Lost 2009
I miss the sound of his laughter, the way his hand fit perfectly in mine, the quiet warmth of his presence like a sunbeam on my skin. Every stolen moment, every shared secret, is a treasure I clutch fiercely, knowing that no one, no one, understands.
Not Dad. Not Mom. Not even Kiara. To them, Leo is a fabrication, a phantom conjured from the depths of my imagination, a trick of the light. To them, I'm just a quiet, perhaps overly sensitive, teenager. They see the practiced smiles, the polite conversations, the desperate attempts to blend in. They don't see the gaping hole in my soul, the constant, gnawing longing for a reality that exists only for me.