You would often ask me what was on my mind – the queries more guided than genuine. The truths were usually bound to work, family quarrels and witches, with no wiggle room.
My answers always cut – your cheeks would sink and your smile would lose its hollow pink. Though distracted, I was not without compassion and care – or the half- smile that kept you perched and “there”.
One April morning, you probed again – braced for my reply. This time, I responded, “You, it is always you love…”. With that, I quelled your proper fears and began to slowly disappear. The bedroom grew small and escape became the game.
© Anthony Gorman 2017