I sit and you drive. I drink one of two cups of coffee, which by the way isn’t strong enough. You leave, always leaving; you leave me again. I wish you fare well, though fair you are not, and well I am not.
Now it’s domino Dad- games, thoughts, domino tears, everything.
I leave it all and ring mum, safety, shining armour worn by a woman- I have never had a male knight. Mum, mum? Mum. My mum. That all I need the word, voice, volume low or high- I’m better. My mum is my medicine, my Calpol. And I do still need it, yes, I do.
The one document, literally I need, the one document I transferred to keep with me, and hold close, was hers, “And she is perfect”. Stupid thing is I’m not, but sometimes my mum, like no other, can make me feel it. When I need her: she’s there. Full stop.
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