I wonder if my family ever talks about me.
We don’t speak, but sometimes I watch their little dots move around the map. At home. At my niece’s. At my grandma’s. To Cracker Barrel, then back to grandma’s.
I did everything I could for them, but still never managed to be who they wanted me to be.
I will end up an unfinished foot note in my family’s ancestry. Such a strange feeling.


















