Chanhassen Melancholia [PRN]

Prince's concern was palpable, his eyes searching mine for a glimpse of the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface. "How's your mom?" he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with a sadness that mirrored my own.

As we stood there, the world bustling indifferently around us, Prince's inquiry about my mother hung in the air like a delicate, yet unwelcome, perfume. He knew. Of course, he knew. In a town like Chanhassen, secrets were communal property, shared and whispered with a voracity that left little to the imagination. My mother, with her battles and demons, was a chapter in the town's ongoing saga of tragedy and resilience.

I felt his gaze on me, patient and unobtrusive, waiting for me to bridge the chasm his question had created. Yet, all I could do was study my shoes, the cracked pavement beneath them a map of my fragmented reality. The truth was, speaking about my mother felt like navigating a minefield of sorrow and anger, where the slightest misstep could unravel what little composure I managed to hold onto.

I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze, my eyes fixated on the cracked pavement beneath my feet. The truth was a heavy burden, one I had carried for far too long. "She's... the same," I murmured, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.