"The Weight of Return"

Sof, return.

The rooftop tiles are faint and water-stained.

Alex looks at me, his temple wrinkled, "Where did you go?"

I shake my head, befuddled. "I don't actually have any idea."

He feigns exacerbation however sits toward the finish of the couch, maneuvering my boots onto his lap and squeezing his warm hands into my calves, as delicate tokens of home. The cool spring air leaks in through the window, conveying the weighty fragrance of earth and the weak pleasantness of fallen crab apples.

The roof twirls above me, put and splotchy, pink walls percolating like jugs of Pepto-Bismol. They contort and obscure, turning into a shaggy floor covering the shade of cream.

The foot stool appears to be excessively delicate to hold my weight, however it's thick wood and glass — glass like a finished glass window from some old church. I gaze at its lip, so high off the ground, envisioning leaning my cheek against it.

The house reverberations with voices. Lynn's voice, stronger than the rest, slices through the clamor, her tone grinding as she snaps, "Sofie, what're you doing? Try not to contact that."

She snatches my arm, nails diving in, and pulls me away from the glass, away from that one, little calm spot. Her hold harms, hauling me back into the disarray. I gaze toward her face, however the benevolence that shows on Sundays has disappeared, locked behind a wardrobe entryway as she drives me away from my minuscule snapshot of harmony.

Sof, return.

The brilliance outside stings my eyes.

I chuckle, my voice cutting through the mists, as Zach takes a gander at me, a half-grin bending his lips. "You're something different when no doubt about it," he giggles, adding, "That risky grin."

He informs me concerning moths. How, when they're hatchlings, they eat everything in sight. They gorge themselves for quite a long time, just to change and lose their mouths, living sufficiently lengthy to kick the bucket in no time.

"All they do is consume and bite the dust," he expresses, nearly to himself, similar to it's lovely. I keep thinking about whether, similar to them, I possibly have 45 days left in me assuming that I stay here.

Sof, return.

Alex's hands are warm against my leg, establishing me back in the exhausted lounge chair in our once-over room. The water stains on the roof seem to be inkblots, pictures that shift and change assuming I gaze sufficiently long.

I need to quit mulling over everything.

Alex inclines forward, his eyes meeting mine with calm power. "You great?"

I laugh, nearly at myself. "Definitely. I'm great."

He presses my leg, consoling, then pushes my boots off his lap. "Okay."

We get up, leaving the entryway partially open behind us.

He fishes something out of his pocket and throws it to me. "Tracked down this under the sofa."

I get it, a little, discolored memento with a blurred catch. It doesn't open, however its virus surface infers stony shores and lapping waves. The sound of water fills my ears, and I envision overgrown rocks, dim water like ink. I need to make a plunge, let the cold shock pull me back into my body, cause me to feel genuine once more.

I get the memento into my pocket, keeping it close. I can't open it right now, however for the present, that doesn't make any difference.

Alex's fingers supplant the memento, holding my hand as he murmurs, "We're nearly there."

Return.

He's right, however we've been on this excursion so lengthy, I scarcely recall where we're going. My legs hurt, the soles of my shoes mellowing against the singing intensity of the asphalt as we climb uphill.

It's been ages since I've seen green.

Alex presses my hand and mumbles, "There's a spot with others — individuals. Kris said there's even a yard with a canine."

I jeer, "Sounds like a fantasy."

"We will not arrive on the off chance that you don't accept."

I feign exacerbation. "It's not that...it's simply — been for such a long time."

He watches me, his look consistent. "They can't take every one of the beneficial things and leave us with only agony."

I snicker delicately. "Didn't they?"

At the point when the entryway at long last opens, men in suits move toward, saying 'sorry' for things I don't have any idea. They signal for me to remain, as though the straightforward demonstration of strolling through an entryway will restore me in the future. They hand me pills and let me know I really want them to work, yet they don't get some information about the wardrobe or the house — they lack opportunity and willpower to tune in.

They grin, giving me expressions of consolation alongside drug, promising that all will be well.

They don't let me know the expense of those pills.

What's more, when the pills run out, the recollections flood back, leaving me shaking and empty.

Be that as it may, nobody pauses.

Sof, return.

Just Alex pauses, and that straightforward truth gives me the solidarity to continue to move.

I go to him, murmuring, "How would you remain so certain?"

He grins, his hand lifting, palm up. "Give me the memento."

I waver however hand it over. "However, i was unable to open it… it's wonderful."

He carries the memento to his lips, utilizing his canine tooth to pry it open with a smile. "You've quite recently got to hone your teeth."

Inside, there's no image or neglected letter, unquestionably the littlest heart-formed reflect.

Alex focuses at it. "You asked how I know there's still great — life, trust, anything you desire to call it."

I peer down, investigating the mirror, and without precedent for more than a year, I see it.

Emerald.