look at me now.

Wednesday, 17 June 2015


Somedays I am the best
I've ever been,
often I am not.

Love me for all that I am you see,
and for the things you cannot,
most importantly,
specifically, especially,

on days, where I am,
nothing at all.


Monday, 8 June 2015

if ever, might never.

I was thinking if we had a child. Maybe a boy. But you left before he knew it or you. I was thinking if he looked a lot liked you and how I'd show him off. One day he'd ask why he doesn't have a dad. But no, I have a feeling he's going to be a bright little boy and ask who's his dad and what happened to him instead.

And then I would tell him, I would look at him with a smile, and tell him "do you know how much you look like your father?". "Every time I look at you I'm reminded of him", my eyes now teary. I would tell him your name, about your family, how we met. I would tell him what I loved most about you. I would talk about you. I would keep talking about you. I would want to talk about us but it would be so hard to. I would choke on my words and look away a few times to wipe my eyes so he wouldn't see my crying.

I gather up the courage to look at him again when he asks if I ever miss you. "All the time, every single day". "Do you know that there hasn't been a day that passed by, that I ever stopped loving your father. I love him, that piece of shit. I love him so much I wish-" I'd stopped my sentence there as I can't help but to weep. He would be the sweetest boy and asked me what's wrong or for me to stop or just cry with me who knows right?

If it ever made him thought "I hate him mum" for the way things are. I'd say that it is fate and it is meant to be. It isn't wrong just because it isn't fair. I would tell him how much you loved him but things are complicated and inexplicable to explain. "He was wonderful really, he was kind and amazing but it was me. I was always doing things wrong with my life. I always say or do the wrong things or worked the wrong way and he didn't need that in his life. I thought he didn't deserve that." It's so funny how my son, our son, would stare blankly into my eyes because he couldn't possibly understand. But I hope he wouldn't or he might grow up to be me and I don't want him to be less than happy.

And then comes that question I fear, "is dad ever coming back?". I'd swallow my tongue a few times before getting myself together to look into his face, smile and let him know that I love him. Even I couldn't answer such a simple question. I would hope for the day you do, I would be at the door: for a knock or the bell. By the phone: for a ring, or a text. The fact that "one day" might never arrive disheartens me, but I have too much hope in me.

Worse that could happen that you might never. That you could be with someone else at that very moment, so much more happier. I would be nothing more than happy for you but without the power to deny my heartbroken state. I imagine the worse possible things to happen to me, because anything good never lasts with me the way the bad does. You shouldn't be dragged into it. This is my life. My own.