It's funny how they sometimes brush at you, their wispy fingers gliding along your collarbone and spine, making you shiver, whether it is eighty degrees, or eight.
They are the soft whisper, the unbidden image that floods into your mind when someone says a key word. You can feel the cascade of memory and emotion coming, like standing under a water fall, even though you are not yet sure what is coming. You try to force yourself to think of something else--
This time, it was, "Well, would you leave a sixteen year old alone over night?" A simple question, given my line of work. But suddenly, I was sixteen, and my parents were traveling. I was home alone, and my grandfather--papa--would come over when I got home from school, and go back to his house when I went to bed.
No, the regret isn't over some crazy party. It is far more simple than that.
I wish I had sat in the living room with him, and talked. I wish I hadn't hidden in my room, reading or doing homework, or playing on the computer.
I wish I hadn't left him alone in the living room. It makes me ache.
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