I moved.

I remember the day he died so clearly in my head.
I was on the phone to my friend and i could hear my mother shouting,
"This isn't right."
"This can't be right."
"Tell me it's not true."
Then the screaming came,
and i felt my stomach drop, something was wrong.
But when i stepped outside,
Everything was fine.
The sun was still shining,
wind still blowing.
Then those words,
"He's gone."
"He's gone."
"He's gone."
Thats all i heard over the screaming and the crying and suddenly it wasn't so perfect,
I couldn't hear,
I couldn't breathe,
i could barely see.
Yet i moved.
I moved to comfort my mother whose screams i could no longer hear,
because she didn't need me.
She needed him.
We all did.
We all do.
And although my legs still shake and my eyes are stained with black rings.
I still move,
And i still see.
Ever since that day,
despite what they said and what they told me,
I never stopped moving