There’s love, neither romantic nor familial; acceptance, understanding of a kind.
An affirmation of being.
We laughed. Cried. I talked and they listened.
Sometimes, not often, the façade would crack, slip.
Allowing tiny glimpses of truth, chinks of light, brighter for their accidental nature.
In more deliberate breaches, lighthouse beams of candle-warmth
Un-flickering in the wind of my own chaos.
Du fehlst mir