Sinead

Sinead. Your name alone begs to be spoken in the whispers of angels. Calls us to sacred silence, while we dream of raging at the sky.        
       
Much like those voices murmuring--ever so softly---from behind closed doors.      
Your grief-stricken parents mustn't overhear your name.      
God, how will they ever hear anything else?!...      
   
Sinead.        
       
Ssshhh....nead!...      
       
How quickly. How quietly. You came and you went.        
In fewer than a hundred sleeps, you softly stole our hearts.        
God, how the silence you've left behind is deafening.

R.