It's that little pinch in the back of your chest. It starts as a pebble dangling from a string wrapped around the cold stone beating beneath your breast. With each beat the pebble seems to grow heavier... No longer a small rock but a beast of cement. It's weight pulls tightly like the tug of your angry stepmother tying braids in your hair. Deafening is the sound of silence, The songs of ghosts I thought long banished still screaming chaos in my ears. Blinding is the image of light within the black pit of sorrow that consumes me. I wish for your closeness, I long for the touch of warm sunshine against my cold, dank skin.