August, somehow

I wondered why my father bought me mirrors as gifts. Did he want me to see myself for who I am or who I could be? Did he want me to see what he sees? And then I wondered, what did he see?

I grieve the man who never got to see his true smile. I grieve the man who pushed through life unhealed with a story that no one knew until it was too late. His last chance to say, see me. From an era that likes to keep things locked away.

The waves hold their tacit knowing, the same as you, forever one body.

August, somehow.

M.