I told your mother
that I loved her new hair,
gazed into eyes of cousins
I thought I'd long forgotten,
chuckling at their surprise
to see me once again.
I furrowed my eyebrows
when my parents welcomed
yours with open arms, an
obscure and intrusive thought
battling with long-held affirmations,
juxtaposing with the winds of solace
wafting brazenly in the fog of my mind.  

I'm left in a state of puzzlement,
localizing the loose ends
tucked inside desolate memories,
those remaining from no closure
and awaiting death from exposure
to newfound sights and scenes,
novel experiences with no pretense
or authoritative ownership from you.

I fear the power of elongated naps,
allowing myself the privilege
to memorialize the dreams
conjured from emotions repressed;
it is here where I am most vulnerable,
receptive to the blind-sided attacks
I mistakenly delegated elsewhere,
somewhere I believed would stay hidden,
away from the realities devoid of closure.

It is closure that I most wish I had;
the absence of this finality remains pervasive,
and I am unsure if complete healing
can ever be attained. Perhaps I will forever
be splintered from the wounds of my past,
calloused patches on my skin
reminiscent of names I dream of forgetting.