You are akin to my father.
I know your silence.
I know your speech.
Because I know my father.
It can’t be easy these days.
It can’t be easy that love.
It can’t be easy. For all reasons and for no reasons.
I close the door of the car and inside the vacuum of silence, I know the red cloud of tension that floats, hovering at your shoulders.
I have no healing to offer.
I try. But my words aren’t what you need to hear.
Because I know that if I spoke my truth, you might open the door and run the other way.
Just like my father, heavy words are easier left in silence.
Heavier conversations put outside to dry, till they are easier and lighter to fold. Then brought in, to be put away, yet again. Into the cupboards, for another day. Just not today.
So I offer my presence.
My easy, candid nature.
I offer light relief, as usual. The comedy prevails.
Hang in there.
It’s not easy I know.
But as every autumn leaf unfurls,
Spring is around the bend.
Caught in the depths of the season,
I can’t ask you any more,
than to take a peek around the bend.
A peek around the season.
Till you see the sunlight.
And I promise you.
It will all be so much better, so much easier, so much soon.