My mother died believing in love.
At least that’s what I tell myself
A cushion for the killing blow
The knowledge that I borrowed life
Was given light from a flickering flame
Just to carry a torch in her absence
I wish I had more than pictures
I long for more than illustrations
From those who can easily claim how much they miss an angel who’s no longer here to intercede on their behalf.
I wish I saw her approval in the mirror
Hope that one day I’ll glimpse what could’ve been her and my father
Given a second chance vicariously in their son and a match who’s hopefully every missing edge to a broken man
If nothing else, I want God to know that I took the challenge he handed to a one year old and made good on what Angela never got the chance to.
I just wanna breathe the dream of the dearly departed into existence to make good use of the God in me.
Maybe then it’ll all be worth it.