The Days Pass

There is something comforting in a repetitive task that brings calm to stirred thoughts. In the months that followed Trustar's sudden death I found that these things were all that kept me alive, more than my mother's constant caring and worried face. Her features crumple when she sees me though she hides it behind a facade of smiles. Her words are too bright when she speaks to me, and I want to flinch when she forces a laugh. I cannot hurt her though, she does so much for me and loves me so, but no one can help me. My father didn't know how to deal me and left me to my own whenever possible. His once kind face and familiar attitude became stiff and brisk.