Tattered Once.

I had a father before I had a mother.
My father stayed with us.
Loved me very much.
Never held me close
Or stretched out the way for me.
Never pushed me
But made me walk on my own
On my own paths
And plant lovely trees on that path.
Trees and flowers that I would like.
Mother came later.
She didn't talk much.
But taught me things which are always remembered
Things that are firsts.
She loved me in her own way
I know she did.
Because my father loved her very much
And she loved father very much.
They were happy.
It made me happy.
I looked and painted
Painted a picture of how my love
Would be. My love, like them.
With flaws, but complete.
Never too much.
Never too little.
I grew up seeing and loving them
Together, never apart. For decades.


They are not together anymore
Like all grown-ups
They say their reasons are well
Well and good for each other
The love is there
And the loss isn't too grand.
Might be together again, he said
Ask him first. she said.
But I saw them since I began to see.
Now like a broken glass
They hurt my eyes and mind
Their edges are piercing my eyes
What together soothed
Separated is fatal.
They say its all well
But my world is shook like hell.
The painted picture is now ripped
And its tattered pieces I hold in my arms
Running to the love I now have,
Hoping we could fix it together.
Tattered once, but hopefully complete.
Our painting, together.