Fawkes
Rex sings his song against the night and we laugh, he and I, sitting on the couch in the near-dark. His focus returns to the pixels on the screen and I marvel at such an endearment, how it's impossible to know how complete you can feel in life, until you are responsible for a child. I love him so. He is his father's doppelganger, a hard-charging-yet-somehow-nervous spitfire it is this that I have fallen in love with. And the sullen chunter when wronged and how it turns so easily into that laugh -- the smile that starts at the corner of the eyes and snakes its way down. All the way down to the tips of my toes, there is something so perfect in the imperfection, the three of us.
We can make mistakes in our lives. The point of it all comes when you learn from them. I would tell you with so many paroxysms (not least among which would be aspersions upon your character!) that it is far too late to still be doing this! To your undoing. I would have gone with you, to the end. But your canoe will sink every time and in some fucked up way I wonder if it is this which mollifies you. Just choose to be better. I hate how easy it is to say that, but I won't take it back. So much rides upon this very thing, this seemingly little thing. You don't know how closely your life may come to mirror those which you hate. It is hard, trust that I know how hard, it is hard to set out in the right way. The path is made of many solitary steps. You make one, and in some way it becomes easier. You make twenty and it becomes hard to stop.
I sit in my castle, a cosseted queen, and am left to daydream about how hard it is to see where one can end up when plagued by so many seen and unseen imprecations. At times I really wish I could understand you, could understand the mind that led you to the decisions you've made. The rain beats against the windows and my mind wanders. Are we really so different? And I will never know because you will never tell me. Hermosa.
He settles himself into bed, and we laugh at the dogs trying to stake their claim, and I tuck him in. How can you possibly ever know how pure and beautiful and simple life is, until you are there, staring it in the eye? And once you do, how can you ever turn your back on it?
We can make mistakes in our lives. The point of it all comes when you learn from them. I would tell you with so many paroxysms (not least among which would be aspersions upon your character!) that it is far too late to still be doing this! To your undoing. I would have gone with you, to the end. But your canoe will sink every time and in some fucked up way I wonder if it is this which mollifies you. Just choose to be better. I hate how easy it is to say that, but I won't take it back. So much rides upon this very thing, this seemingly little thing. You don't know how closely your life may come to mirror those which you hate. It is hard, trust that I know how hard, it is hard to set out in the right way. The path is made of many solitary steps. You make one, and in some way it becomes easier. You make twenty and it becomes hard to stop.
I sit in my castle, a cosseted queen, and am left to daydream about how hard it is to see where one can end up when plagued by so many seen and unseen imprecations. At times I really wish I could understand you, could understand the mind that led you to the decisions you've made. The rain beats against the windows and my mind wanders. Are we really so different? And I will never know because you will never tell me. Hermosa.
He settles himself into bed, and we laugh at the dogs trying to stake their claim, and I tuck him in. How can you possibly ever know how pure and beautiful and simple life is, until you are there, staring it in the eye? And once you do, how can you ever turn your back on it?
