A Billion Burning Dreams

This is all your fault. Guilt stowed away for safe-keeping in a vault no one can seem to find. When I fall apart, my heart reaches for protection. The solace of affection — a path of least resistance. I wish that word held more F’s than my father would utter on a daily basis. Chewing on his bottom lip. Rawhide that never gave him any comfort. At least we have that in common. A grain of salt is all it takes to season a cut of meat that didn’t ask to be here. My father was an amateur cook, an amateur father, who did the best he could. He told me once:

“The greatest gift you can give your kids is the ability to learn from your mistakes.”

Well, perhaps he can help explain my own.

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