I had hoped someone would love me enough to see me while knowing my struggles were never about them. My hope contained both a selfish expectation and deep longing.
I wrote as a plea to be heard. By someone.
By her...but in the quiet of the night, when love and grief can no longer be shouted down I hear the repressed whispers of knowledge reminding me the woman I long to hear from will never return.
"Change happens one funeral at a time." At the time we were talking politics. However, in the years since I heard her say that I've come to appreciate this truth.