Dante

I stand in front of the mirror as I finish getting dressed. Black dress pants and a shirt, no tie, with the top buttons unbuttoned. I rarely like wearing anything around my neck except for my white gold chain, which my mother gave me when I turned fifteen. It holds a wing pendant similar to my tattoo, only with two wings. Behind them is written in Italian, "Sempre con te" (Always with you). She had said those wings were mine, that the phrase was so I would always know she'd be with me, protecting me, that I'd need them when I was ready to fly. In a way, she was right. I needed those wings a lot when I lost them. They were what I held onto. Her words are etched deeply into my memories. However, what wasn't true was that she'd always be with me. When I was much younger, I believed everything, but I never thought I could lose them, that some damn people would snatch their lives away and take them from my life.

It's a loss and pain that I can't overcome and heal from. My nightmares