Reminds me of how I felt when my father died.
With my father hovering somewhere between worlds, I am firmly Vain but somewhere between Alone and not.
These were days infused with a kind of poetry that crushed us,
days burdened by an unbearable beauty…
that broke the heart a thousand times and reassembled it a thousand and one.
These were days when I was not much of a father to my children,
not much of a lover to my wife, not much of a friend to the few friends I have.
Only a son in service to his father.
In return, he told me with scathing honesty what he saw in me.
And located for me that nurturing part of myself I’d long thought dead.
I’ve held onto this photo for a bit, unsure of it, not trusting its’ origins.
But in the life I have created for myself,
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