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,