Isolation surrounded me as I gazed upon the picture;

a perfect family, untouched by society.

His hazy blue eyes taunted me,

I recognized them as the ones who stare back at me in the mirror.

His smile revealed he was laughing;

oh how I wish it were me whom he was laughing with,

but it wasn’t; it scarcely ever had been; and it might continue never to be.

I allowed my guilty to permeate my body.

I no longer considered His leaving my fault—

mostly because I strive to forget my sliver of doubt.

His spirit felt while I was in the womb,

His vows completely disintegrated not long after.

We’ve kept in contact, though distantly,

living separate lives, walking separate paths;

I the smooth route of the young and naïve,

He the road littered with the problems of the world—and his own.

I no longer weep for my loss,

my tear-ducts are deserts,

cracked and dusty from the lack of moisture.

This does not mean that I mourn no longer.

For I do—for I do.

Some days it’s harder, others it goes unnoticed.

I know He loves me, despite His absence

and I love Him, despite His absence.

I surround myself with those who are present,

for they are my Present and my Future.

His face resides in my mind, and I do think of Him often,

although the velvet notes of His gruff voice are now absent without assistance,

the man who sold us to a used car salesman for a newer model,

who gave me half of my DNA,

my love for reading,

my eyes,

my teeth.


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