Nearly five. You
only know good

people. You still
dream of castles,

of knights on horses,
of growing long

hair. Three states
away is another

shooting. Pop pop. Bang
Bang. You just touched

your first fake gun
last week.

The amusement 
park buzzed

like electricity
ready to go out.

You pointed the barrel
at yourself.

We all hesitated
then laughed.

Secretly,
we each felt seen.