I feel terrible.
My family left a while back,
To go see if they could find a better life for us.

“Among wreckage from the war is no place to raise a family,”
They had said one night.
I awoke the next morning, alone in our now abandoned living quarters.

Left me.
With nothing to hold,
But the hands of sickness.

I looked around the halls with the last of my strength.
I remembered the parties we used to have.
And the laughs.

Now, there’s no one to comfort me.
No one who cares.
So I sit here alone hoping they’ll someday return.

So here I lie.
No friends or family in what could be,
What should be my final hours,
Perhaps even seconds,
No one around to celebrate the life of their very own daughter.