In the photograph I’m smiling, but my memories from that day were far from happy.

To this day, I regret not having said goodbye. Would there be an opportunity to fix this? My heart hesitated, realizing that we might never meet again. I reflected on how I kept forgetting my farewells—like a writer who starts a million stories but leaves them unfinished. Since I was young, I was always told my head was in the clouds, fascinated with what might be rather than what actually was.

“Your head is always in the clouds!” my cousin scolded, effectively grounding me from my reverie. She was waiting in front of the apartment door, having been awake all night. Her expression was just as it was when my Mother passed away, incredulous yet concerned. Although we hadn’t known each other until she offered to take me in, she was the person closest to me—the only one who had not been taken away. She was the closest, but not close at all. We conflicted: she was self-assured and gazed toward the future while I was remorseful and lived in the past.

Unlike my cousin, who had lived in this apartment her entire life, I had never lived in a place for more than a year. When I was born, my father backed out of marriage—he had expected a son. Without his support, my mother struggled and we were forced to drift from place to place like leaves. In the early years it was fun, my Mother and I used to pretend we were on vacation; We made friends everywhere; we explored exciting places, and immersed ourselves in intriguing cultures. But as time passed and my friends began discussing their plans for the future, I became fearful that I might never become.

Throughout our journeys, my mother and I took many photographs. Early on they were of animals and landmarks. As the years went on, they became of me with my friends. Each year, on my birthday, my mother and I would take a picture of ourselves together, holding an envelope with our address. In that envelope was my present. The last envelope contained car keys, giving me the opportunity to take my life wherever I hoped. However, my hope was taken from me. My Mother was taken by her illness later that evening. In the photograph I’m smiling, but my memories from that day were far from happy.

What could I have done so we could still be together? Without hesitation, I would give up my keys—clip my wings—to bring her back. I would rather remain unfinished and no one if we could go back to drifting endlessly together. I was someone to her.