twenty-five years later

February 19, 2013

Slowly now, slowly so my limbs move away from sheets soaked. My eyes not yet open but I can see the light that seeps from under the door, radiant on my forehead down to my shins. Slowly with my legs stretched, I'm only a surface piled on top of a much further depth.

As a lone voice echoes across high ceilings hoping they hit the inside of your ear, hoping you can only see what I've been keeping. Backs leaned against walls owned by others and the hope disappears into the small cracks we can't see. Please.

And I see you, long awaited joy forced into a small cramped room with your brother, sister, mother, father. Your hands grabbing onto a single finger, shivers sent down my spine as my mother tells of how she once held her father in the same way.

Long awaited fragments pieced together over a satellite line, the sound of tears spilling, nose sniffling. The sound of decisions made, no more time to wait. Yet, I couldn't help but to take it as it was, or else we continue blindly until we are completely lost and alone. The only sounds you didn't hear was this silence that has swept across my days.

Slowly, slowly now, a heart mends on top of a new shape. One that is less, less of what this month has been, and more of what is ahead. Those little hands growing everyday, a smile from her eyes on slower days, a tune played from his sweet hands, more stories from her small garden. A depth that will continue as long as this chest is rising and falling. Today is another day to celebrate life, what could be more wonderful than that.