She lights one candle, then another
A whole row of candles, the first melted away before she's lit the last.
Turns to me, looking for approval, looking for a sign.
A sign that I love her, that I'll always love her, that I won't leave anymore.
It kills me, the leaving, the constant leaving.
Leaving is being.
Unless I stay
and another part of me leaves, so I can breath.
The candles burn, use up the oxygen.
Where does the fire go, after?
My fingers climb the smoke wisp, looking for a way out.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
your breathing is so much more important than your childs breathing.everytime she looks at you it will be forever burned in your memory until one day she will not look at you anymore.
whatever you say, george. you always know best.
i know better than you,certainly about our children of which you are too busy to really get to know.look at your wonderful picture,it's all about you!!!!!!!!!
Post a Comment