Vicky came home with a drawing.

A group of children were playing.

One girl stood alone.

She told me,
when the girl asked to join,
the others ran away.

I pointed at the girl.

“Who is she?”

“Just some random girl.”

I asked,
“Was that you?”

“No.”

I nodded.

But something in me stayed.

Some days, I still see her.

And some days,
I try to believe she is okay.

I don’t always know which is true.