Is it really fair
to reproach me for something that
I reproach myself for
every time I breathe?
Is it my fault
that I was born too soon?
Or is it yours that he was born too late?
I thought you liked me
Approved of me
And perhaps you do
But I thought you were an ally
And not a sapper under the walls of my contentment.
It's not easy
being me.
Feeling perfect happiness
and knowing it ...
must end
will end
Feeling delight
and sadness
every day.
He'll leave by himself.
I know this.
He'll go.
When he's ready.
Please...
It hurts enough.
Don't make it harder
than it already is
for me...