As the brittle/withered pages of my life crumble into bits of memories each day
The book of why I am…is fading into the mist of my mornings.
I sit here at dawn…eyeing the tree line.
Believing I might catch a glimpse of you.
The trail I kept well cleared for you to follow home…is obscured by brambles now.
For you left when you broke.
A broken waif that I loved.
You told me so many nights, “You’ll never love broken.”
I would only hate what you have become.
I never said a word.
My words were silent, for I believed you.
We never had our daughter…
We never pushed her on the swing that now hangs on frayed rope.
We never fought for each other.
We never discovered…would the two of us be enough?
I never said, “You broken is enough…it always was.”
In the waning days of life our thoughts traverse a galaxy of lives lived.
Visiting every moment, we loved and every tear we shed for what we now regret.
Before I go, I tell myself I will see you on the other side.
To tell you, broken is what we are, and to love what is, is our chance to love…unconditionally.
Do you hold our daughter tight where you are?
Tell her that her broken father loves her and will be there soon?
Please…maybe the next morning the mist will be so thick it will form a shape of you…beckoning me to come…
I will break off and come to you. For broken, can break away too.