First heartbreak

The first time someone told me they wanted to die, it was my mother.

My mother was my first heartbreak.

We were in a car park. I remember the light on the bonnet.

Everything looked normal, which felt like a mistake.

I remember thinking that if I stayed still, the moment might not attach itself to me.

It did.

After that, I started noticing what people said when they thought no one was really listening.

Not the big ones. The small ones. The things said too quickly to take back.

That was the first time I understood that words don’t just describe a life. They decide what’s allowed to exist inside it.