Questions and answers, different and similar, close but not close enough, doubt spreads like a poison through my thoughts and memories.
Was I a liar when I wrote that Biography in 8th grade… could I have continued to lie to my children when asked who my birth father was?
More questions go unanswered in the new chapter of my life mixed with the old.
While crying today I’m told, “I’m always here for you, I always loved you, I sent money that was returned, I made calls that went nowhere, but always knew someday you’d call.”
The poison is thickening, gravy on a warm stove, covering all my thoughts and memories, how do I go back and ask my mother, my safety, what’s the truth now.
Madness sears my eyes with treacherous tears, anger wanting to lash out at what was my only safeguard as I say goodbye to the man at the airport, the man that once was my father.