I know you'll never find this,
and for that, I'm grateful.
That I get to keep this false
memory to myself.
I let myself indulge, sometimes,
in the myth of safety,
in you.
I remember sitting in class
and wondering what you were
like as a father,
your ponderous voice and small frame,
always patient when any of us
had questions.
It's hard to admit that I started
dreaming about what it would
have been like to have grown
up with your love -
quiet, gentle,
not the screams I still hear
at 26 years old.
So, I let myself dream,
not too often,
only in small amounts,
on the restless nights
where I can't seem to cry
out the uncertainty.
I play that year back
a million times.
What would happen
if I would have run to you.
If I had told you anything
(everything).
I doubt it would have
changed my state of mind
but, I know it wouldn't have
been a mistake.
You're someone I can trust
eight years later,
when I don't feel a hundred
percent safe
