Silence.

The house is filled with silence.

Daddy's battered Subaru sits in the driveway.

Is he here to see me?

His little girl,

His little mouse.

A manila envelope,

A few words,

A manic mind,

That's all it took.

 

My world of laughter and twelve-year-old naivety

No longer spinning,

Taking on a new geography.

Rivers carve themselves into soft cheeks,

The ground quakes, knees falling to the floor,

Great rifts form.

Mother and daughter watch bridges burn,

Separated by freshly realized resentment.

Father and daughter smothered by smog,

Exhaust from the Greyhound that takes him away.

 

He’s gone,

No longer Daddy,

But a memory.

Words on paper,

That damn envelope,

That damn ink and cheap office stationary,

That damn disease,

Who knew the I would inherit the symptoms?

He’s been gone for years,

Distanced by delusions,

Now distanced by miles,

2,691 of them.

 

2,691 miles,

Seven days,

Four broken hearts,

Three psychiatrists,

Two MRIs,

A daily dose of lithium,

That’s all it took.

 

The fog clears,

I finally break the silence.

“Why?”

“Why?!”

“WHY?!”

“why?”

“why.”

He doesn’t answer.

He already has.

 

A few honest words

At the bottom of the page

Of that cheap stationary

In that damn manila envelope

 

“Because I love you.”

 

My world spins on.