He lives his life
the way it used to be and a little bit more.
There are times when he is so quiet
and he knows why, and he understands
and then…he remembers the deep resonance
and distant echoes of the past.
This is what makes him so quiet.
He looks in the mirror and sees a sad face.
He looks at his children and grandchildren
and he sees in them the smile, the pain, the silent struggle
of those long years, of trying to make sense of what is no longer seen.
The clothes in the blue laundry bag of the past seven years
still remain untouched. Was this deliberately intentioned,
so that what is no longer seen can at least be touched
and lovingly caressed?
But he knows and understands.
Because there is comfort, because he already made peace
with that quiet that brought the pain in the first place
because he knows and understands that that quiet is
actually the peace that binds him with the pain and
that makes him remember tenderly. And it is beautiful.
That complexity. That pain. That deeper truth.