I had forgotten of course what it was like to live with true heart-break, to be one of the slumberers, stumbling through waking hours, waiting for the respite of sleep, but knowing none would lie in the folly of my mine’s dreams.
Fighting all the time, my one urge to lie still in my bed, to slow my breathing as the cover envelope me, and slowly close my eyes. To be still. To be as close to you.
In short, I miss my father terrible.
I know it’ll be days, maybe even weeks or months before I let the words course through my finger tips to page. The ink makes it real, impossible to smile and pretend that yesterday is today and tomorrow.
Soon enough they’ll be moments where the pressure is off my chest, a mad dash for the light underwater.
And I’ll forget, for a minute or two, the dull ache of my heart.
Then they’ll be another and another until I notice once again the smell of lilacs dancing in my chest and the sun warming my broken bones.
But for now, I wanted to do something. Anything. And that’s enough.