I will be home for Christmas.
And I hope my presence comes as a fragrance of softness.
a spring of sweetness like the perfumed waters on your skin.
I hope it is like a new giggle that escapes the mouth of a child.
Strange yet beautiful.
Of course, I am kidding.
You will not forget my years of absence.
The years of questions.
The widening gap in our conversations
the haunting silence that sat with us.
That held us with mocking stillness.
the void in our letters
you will not forget the long nights that you stayed wondering.
gathering the fullness of grief in your bosom.
Breaking bit by bit the meaning of the words I wrote.
On very blurry days
I was a girl carried by the sea, by every wind of revelation and indecision.
I soared, dwelt and lingered to the last breath of my youth.
tossing questions to the air and the elements of nature.
Broke testaments and hearts of men that believed.
History will write me as an angry woman.
I will be home for Christmas Father
keep the questions at the door of your heart.
I will keep the regrets in my eyes.