somebody turn the lights out // there's so much more to see in our darkest places.

they say that everyday is the start of something beautiful,
but it's hard to see the beauty in the gray area, the no-man's land
the uncertainty of whether your dad is going to live or die
and not knowing if I'm strong enough to tell oyu
"it's gonna be okay"
and hold it together if it's not.

I wonder if you saw how red my eyes were.
I tried to hide it, matter-of-factly,
but I had to let myself worry on the way over,
so I wouldn't once I saw you.
Does that make sense?
(I so desperately wanted to anchor you).

I don't know what I did that night.
I thought I'd distract, but I didn't, or watch you cry,
but I didn't,
or even just hold your hand (which I did, but not enough).
Maybe you just needed to lay, skin to skin,
feeling the contours of my arm
and holding on so tightly, you thought I might float away.

Building an altar is sacrifice, they say,
and choosing worship over panic
is a costly decision.
But I heard more notes of love and fear
in what you couldn't bring yourself to pray
than a thousand choirs' worth of singing.

When you stared at my in silence,
and then told me I was a blessing,
your gaze was so unlike you, I shivered.
This stranger-version of you,
in so much pain he is no longer himself,
made my heart ache with the weight of it all.

And in the dark, the monsters are in your own head,
now that we're adults
(they still exist, and are scarier than before
with no one to reassure you).

I'm glad you found hope in the light, strength, and song
and that you held me to make yourself feel better
because the world isn't so cruel as to end with me in your arms.
-12/14-08