I was sleeping until I awoke with heartache. She was home and still not a word silked it's way over my lips, no "I love you" no "How was your day". The silent protest brings nothing but salt water drops when you realize how silent the reaction is. Even now it will all calmly wash over my face at it pales and my nose cringes with disappointment. Even now it will all caress my lids and whisper sweet, wrinkled memories of youth and comfort. All the days spent out of home, out of heart, but knowing at any time I can return. But now knowing that I am struck out of home without choice only to watch my home be demolished, burned and never rebuilt, I feel the sudden need both physiologically and psychologically for that home and once rebuilt I feel I won't ever leave, stuck in a mental youth with my thumb in my mouth.
I hear the rush in my ears and bring my face together, inhale deeply and blink until I can see again. My temples hurt as my sleeves are dampened. I beg, I hope, I wish to be caught by her. To wail in her face or at her back and hope some motherly instinct takes over to console.
Even now she does not.
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