:: Fleeting Whispers ::

"I can't do this Jean," M said, his voice wounded and small and thick with unshed misery.
"What would be the alternative?" I asked. How cold how stupid how callous. But how true.
"I don't know. If dying is not a sin, I would die."

***

I felt relieved when the distressing phone call ended. At this moment, I have no right to be anyone's emotional mother. I'm too caught up in my own healing to truly empathize, and I have headed too far out of the dark hell of self-indulgent pain to share it in spirit with someone else. Selfish selfish selfish.

***

Our laughter, loud and unbridled,
Scarred the night with unsung hope.

I still see shadows of a lingering pain in your eyes; with you we breathe together the ashes of our old loves.