To an outsider, a woman clasping hands with two girls, they will assume are my daughters, must look beautiful. We walk in the evenings, though the little king is missing. In his place, a mutt that resembles a bruised russet potato. After, I take them out for hot chocolate, and we play games at the coffee shop. We must look so lovely then, too. But, I can see the children’s pain. I am not enough. The night is dark, because their pain rises to the surface.
If a feeling is not underlined, it is ignored. Relationships are underdeveloped, then forgotten. I have no time to give what cannot immediately prove its importance. Here is a man if I want him, but I will not bring myself to give him the attention he needs. Here are friends that slowly forget how to pronounce my name. Everyone is beginning to think they have imagined me. There is nothing to give. There is no way inside me. Once more, I belong to the children.
It is not possible to evade what has become my responsibility. My faith is placed in another, any other. Formed by specters in the hills of Wallachia. Magically appearing in the main square of Linköping. A curse’s filthy residue. I do not care how you came to be, just rescue me. My bags are packed, my resolve is firm. We will build things together, and they will forever be yours and mine.