she’s so beautiful when she’s asleep,
when the thoughts that terror her during
the day can no longer bother her. i
always wonder if she dreams of me . . .
if her head is filled with pleasant memories
during her slumber, or beautiful nightmares.
jasmine is still when she is asleep, never
tosses or turns. i can never read her the
same way i do when she’s active, forcing
smiles & holding back tears.
i sit beside her on this bed . . . it was much
too large for the two of us, those six years
ago, but it seems a million miles wider now.
another has never laid beside her, never
held her, never so much as touched this
bed. it was ours. it would always be ours.
as she inhales & exhales slow, peaceful
breaths, my lips press into a smile. she’d
never seemed to age until after i was gone.
if only i’d been smarter. if only i’d looked
for help. she would be happy again. the
children would have their father. maybe
the world wouldn’t seem so . . . DIM.
i whisper sweet nothings to my sleeping
princess, knowing that she can’t see me,
hear me, or feel me. she is entirely un -
aware of my presence ; she has been for
the past six years. & i keep hoping, pray -
ing that one day, she’ll notice me, or the
children will notice me, & i could try to
mend their broken, aching souls . . .
& i’ll keep hoping, praying for that day.
it’s in god’s hands. a second chance is
what i so desperately need.
my hand instinctively clutches the half
heart pendant dangling from the chain
around my neck. i can feel the other
half, still resting against paris’ chest. i
feel her safe, sound heartbeat & ignore
the knot in my stomach.
the entire house is asleep . . .
except for prince, who’s wide away in
his room. he’s on his phone -- i don’t
even have to look to know. it’s all he
does lately . . . friends, parties . . . i
wonder why he doesn’t spend more
time with jasmine & his siblings. they
were so close when i was there.
i give my queen a final glance & rise
to visit prince. i can see the light shining
from his wide open doorway. i wonder if
his terrible sleeping habits are simply
a teenage side effect, or if he inherited
my insomniac tendencies.
inside, my son sits atop his bed, face
buried into his phone. i laugh, noticing
how much his ‘ concentrated, working
hard ‘ face resembles mine.
“ dad . . . MOM, QUICK ! COME HERE ! “
turnnoffyourmind
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
vaporwave
amandla
