she has pictures in her hallway of other people’s children.
other people’s, but not her own.
well actually, i am there
it’s more just that i wish i wasn’t.
i wish i could erase myself from her walls
the way i’ve erased myself from so many people’s lives
slip through the crack between the door and its frame
and take myself far from her mind.
so i could be just a vague memory,
a long-forgotten ghost
lurking in the cobwebby backrooms of her past.
but i know i can’t.
and so i care.
because i don’t know how not to –
because i don’t know if i have any other choice.
i spend my whole life running from one of them –
can i make it two?
i don’t honestly think i have the strength
and so instead
i keep guard watchfully;
ensure her safety and her health
and secretly, deep inside my heart,
wait for the day when she will finally