the cross on the side of the road

Maybe only I can see it. Honestly, here, I am the only one who can see it. I may know it’s there, but its existence is not in full, yet. Being away from home for eight months of the year can, somehow, separate home from school. Two worlds do not really exist, but that is how it seems sometimes, especially when something like this happens.

It happened. He is gone. But, it does not seem real. Not because I do not want to accept it, but because being here, away from the place we both called home, no one knows his name. No one here knows his past, his family, his friends, and his insane ability to turn your worst day into your best. I don’t expect them to. It would just be nice to be able to grieve openly and with people who are grieving as well.

Home will be interesting. His face wont be at regular gatherings, his laughter wont surround our conversations, and his arms will no longer embrace me as I tell my ‘older brother’ that I need a hug.

I do not want to live in this grief and fear--not knowing of what will happen to me when I go home, but in order to fully accept what happened I need to travel north.

This cross I see every day follows me whether others can see it or not. What are we supposed to do when home and school become two different worlds?