My father wasn't a werwolf, just a man. He had hairs on his back and I sometimes imagined him wild and inhuman. That must have been my own desire or dread: Oedipus seeking forgiveness.
When he died I blamed myself. I spent the next fifteen years trying to expiate the crime in the darkest places: night factories and building sites, sad offices, hospital wards and psychiatric units. I called it work; it paid the rent; but it wasn't even survival.
When you love someone, there's nothing you can do - pretend or hide. Why waste a life attempting? Better to smash the glass and scream, even if it sets the fire engines racing.
Life isn't that dramatic. Love hurts, but there are no hospitals for that. Only truth, no matter how stark. And trust. Keeping faith. I love you, as I always have. Your death makes no difference.
You're out there still, howling at the moon, my ghost and namesake.
When he died I blamed myself. I spent the next fifteen years trying to expiate the crime in the darkest places: night factories and building sites, sad offices, hospital wards and psychiatric units. I called it work; it paid the rent; but it wasn't even survival.
When you love someone, there's nothing you can do - pretend or hide. Why waste a life attempting? Better to smash the glass and scream, even if it sets the fire engines racing.
Life isn't that dramatic. Love hurts, but there are no hospitals for that. Only truth, no matter how stark. And trust. Keeping faith. I love you, as I always have. Your death makes no difference.
You're out there still, howling at the moon, my ghost and namesake.
No comments:
Post a Comment