Wine and other times past


Old post.

Image

He thinks in shadows.

There are days that I spend wiping clean the messes I make. There are days that flash, over and over and over, in my head and in my heart that go on forever, stomach churning thoughts.

There are nights I pass this over, in a soft, godless blanket. There are mornings I wish never came.

These are not unique feelings. These are not interesting feelings. There is nothing in my mind or mouth of which I take ownership. I am a mimic of nothing deep.

Of everything I see and feel and experience, there is no joy but the joy I find in the eyes of my children. My Elvis. My Henry. My sweet, beautiful, echoing angels. My mischievous, demanding, flirtatious boys.

I love my nephews, my nieces, my sister, my mother, my friends; but they are not enough to chase away my shadows. They cast a warm glow, but it lurks, just the same.

It is unfair to put such a heavy burden on my sons. I hope they never know how much I need them. I want them to look at me and see good things. I want to be good.

My life, in verse.

About me

I am great.
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