I become an empath here. Watching you move about the house in your pajamas. Tucking the children in bed. Waiting up for him until 4 am, while you pretend to be silent in your sleep. Your only reprieve, a child's toy, forgotten in your bed. You trace the outline of its form, and move your mind back to the silence, the loneliness.
And I become an empath here. The snow 2 feet deep. The sky only 12 feet long, grey and stark. Limited by its nature. An isolation so deadly, so lifeless. Confining in its bubble, in its soldered shell.
I become an empath here. The children who bring the elderly woman across the street Christmas gifts. She invites them in, feeds the cookies. She asks each who they are, who their parents are, familiarity warms. The snow covering the walkway to her home, gives way, melting.
I become an empath here. Anything that has been tucked away. Anything that has been hidden. Anything I deemed useless has been recovered. I become an empath.
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