sometimes you look at me with a particular kind of sadness in your eyes. and i know. i know i have failed you. but maybe it is you thinking you have failed me, wishing that you could have done more, said more, became more strict, more ruthless, maybe even more prayerful.
i know you pray for me sometimes. mostly on nights when i choose to flee and not return to normality until my feet feel like returning home. i know sometimes when you pray you ask for a quicker death. an escape from your failures. something swift and yet embracing, something cooling off at your heart like the mint in those teas you like, but still comforting.
i know when i pray it is for you, for them. that you will understand, and if not understand at least acknowledge. sometimes when i pray i ask for belonging, for acceptance, for forgiveness. i pray for all of these in the dark, sometimes in the shower, but mostly in the shower so i can never feel myself cry.
i am loosing the battle of you or me, me or them, me or a plural you. i cannot fight. i am too tired. my feet are hurting from walking in your footsteps. my fingers are losing grip of my chest. dear god, when does this stop.