while the pigmented sky,
staring back from the horizon,
hesitates, the pause lengthening as Day awakens,
eyes shining with naïve optimism,
there are ten million ifs and buts
and things to do.
one of them is learning how to live.
a father hiding behind his papers,
like a coward behind an excuse?
“oh, don’t blame him,” they say,
“we are weak, true,
but after all,
we are just humans.
we are meant
to make mistakes.”
“mistakes like you.”
a sob, the lowest note of my heart,
is echoing the thoughts of the world.
she takes my hand and tells me that I belong.
her voice is warped and broken and singing with maddening desperation.
if only we were mayflies,
born into the world for a day,
before fading into the unknown,
our minds still resting
in our own makeshift sanctuary.