❝my heart'll get so low, it could touch my feet. so just leave me alone,
there's nothin' i need.❞
❘❘
CONCENTRATE. JUST FUCKING CONCENTRATE.
There's something stifling in the dry heat of the library. A stoic silence sits heavy on my heart, thick and suffocating after drowning myself in club music for days. I shift and squirm in my seat, searching for some semblance of stillness.
Even when all my limbs lock in place, I can't escape the tumultuous sensation, churning my thoughts and grinding out the last trace of stability. Everything is fucking spinning, and I'm edging into a dizzy desperation as I trace the words in the article with stinging eyes.
"In the last few days the matters of keeping families together and the mistreatment of immigrants at America's southern border has been raised again."
I swallow a shaky sound, tucking a knotted strand of hair behind my ear.
"The administration has announced a change in a long-held policy related to how long children can remain imprisoned along with their immigrant parents, and it has sparked a debate over the humanity of its U.S. immigration policy."
Bile crawls up my throat, and for a long, delirious second, I think I might dry heave.
It's something unspoken in the words, something so deeply rooted in the present immigration crisis that I can barely contain a sob.
Because it's just now sparking a debate over the 'humanity' of U.S. immigration policies.
It's taken years for people to care.
No one cared when we were freezing in la hielera in Arizona. No one cared when my mamá got sick. No one cared when our entire family was separated. No one fucking cared.
"The new policy extends the length of imprisonment of families with children from 20 days to 60 days."
Another wave of nausea rolls through me. As I collapse in the chair, sick and tired, I bite back another cry.
Imprisonment. Entire families. Who are trying to seek asylum.
A feral, frustrated sound unravels in the back of my throat, but I swallow it with a grimace. Staring down the blazing, white-hot screen in the dim library, hands shaking and pulse racing, I force myself to scroll further and further down the fucking Forbes article.
And at the sight of the next bold words, me paralizo.
DEPORTATIONS
My blood runs cold.
"Meanwhile, back in July, when President Trump vowed to deport "millions" of immigrants from the United States, he was signaling that an Immigration and Customs Enforcement operation targeting migrants with final deportation orders was on the way. The real list had about 2,100 families on it, and had the goal of deterring Central American migrants from trying to cross the southern border."
I grind my teeth together. A million nasty curses threaten to tear free, but when I glance down, another headline silences everything.
'No day in court': US deportation orders blindside some families
Es interminable. If I keep scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, I could waste an eternity reading stories of immigrants—fucked over, turned away, separated from their families, deported, left to die.
YOU ARE READING
Snow
RomanceWhen Neva Álvarez moves to Queens, she's merely biding her time between bartending and dodging her brother's phone calls before her final year at NYU, and with the summer dwindling to an end, it's difficult not to find herself drawn to her new next...
