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?!...
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.