I’ll go years without talking to my father but in one moment of lapsed judgment I’ll pick up and in those calls it’s as good as it’ll ever be between us, we’ll act as if nothing ever happened and we talked last week, we never stare that elephant in the room down we don’t even take a glance, but we both know just as well as the other once that line disconnects it’s back to a familiar silence that’s far more comforting than the possibility of fixing it all, because some bridges may stay burned but that doesn’t stop you from casting a line or two into the river and seeing what you pull up even if it’s
bad fish every time