in the middle of it all there is the still, the dead sound of someone having left, a door closed softly and irrevocably.
the mad, mad sound of nothing… and, and,
the nagging thought, the lingering memory, the hollow sound of a cliche that’s been written one too many times.
i want to say something new, but i can’t be bothered with the putting it down.
i’ve gotten too used to writing about pain and madness and angst and despair when i am no longer any of things.
my daughter semi-squats, makes tiny fists to keep her balance and blurts out before bursting red something of terrible importance that we cannot possibly understand between the yelps and babbles that came before and after.
in an effort to impress me with her technical savviness, my wife breaks our home built tivo.
this is my life now: a wonderfully lunatic child and loony loving wife. where is the sadness in any of that?
in the middle of it all, the still between tears and laughter, the short breath that comes before relief, the sound of shutters opened to the sun.