I remember your eyes
Dec 27th. Twenty-something years ago. You were sitting on the floor, hair hanging on your face like a screen, but it did nothing to shield your eyes. Naked, empty. Just sorrow and disillusion and pain, two big dark pools of pain.
You were so frail I was afraid to speak, the simple sound appeared hard enough to shatter you in tiny shards. As your heart was, in that moment. In shards.
I have a sort of mental picture of you, sitting on the floor against that vivid blue wall, and those zeroed eyes.
On this day, every year, my heart still aches. Not for what happened that day (it almost seems laughable, today), but for what came after, for the things that hurt you. And me.
For what could be, and hadn't the time to.
I dream of you at least twice a week.
