14 years I’ve lived with this.
My scars have healed. My messed up insides never will.
There’s pain. Constant and unyielding. Only the degree varies.
I’ve learned to mask it well.
Only your Dada sees. He’s the only one who gets to experience all my ugly.
Then there’s you.
You shouldn’t be here.
All those experts are still scratching their heads over you.
We’re still scratching our heads over you.
The miracle my broken body made.
Fast asleep in my bed tonight because your Dada is away.
Smiling that gorgeous, gap-toothed smile in your sleep.
You. Are. Here.
It hasn’t been fair to you.
You have to be gentle with me.
No headlong charges for you.
No boisterous tussles.
You’ve already started rolling your eyes at how delicate your Mahm is.
But we make the best of it, don’t we?
You wished today that you could make my pain go away forever.
Your face crumpled when I started to cry.
You thought you’d made me sad.
I wish I could’ve explained how wrong you were.
I wish you were old enough to understand.
I have you, baby.
I have your Dada.
Everything else is just filler.