Dear Father…
I think it’s funny how a single fragment of a memory can come back with such force.
A blunt shock of energy that sends you into either joy, or desire…
Saying I could handle this would be a falsehood.
But sometimes I find myself grasping at the thin rays of light… hope...
Mother responded to my letter last night,
Did she show you what I had written?
My words contain nothing but the truth, yearn etched into fragments of a sentence,
Hope laced into the sweetness of every word.
I would come back, just to feel the refuge of home…
But coming back to you all would be a lie to myself.