Currently Listening Abigail Washburn & the Sparrow Quartet By Abigail Washburn see related

The light has left your face and your hair no longer shines. Your laugh is flat, and your imaginary is quenched. Where is the one with the soft curls? Where is the one with the laughter that balms the soul? Where is the one whose innocence thrived? I feel that I am constantly looking for you, not sure where you have gone. You are lost, even though you are physically here. Your sadness hangs in the air like the heavy summer humidity.

I have always had the problem of caring too much, of carrying others burdens too heavily. Yet, I do not even know what to feel about your hurt. I can only look at you and hear you so long before I begin to crawl inside of myself and pretend that you are still the little boy who only cried when the dog died or when your toy broke. My heart is heavy with the feeling that I have lost you to a dark world that I am too afraid to embrace. The reality of your brokeness, I am afraid to embrace.

The cognitive side of me understands that you are in pain. I find momentary comfort in theories and techniques that can ease your hurt. Yet even as my mind fully embraces this actuality my heart refuses. As aware and present as I am, I am also distant, self-abandoned in melancholy and pathetically denial.

Yet, I have not given up. I fall asleep with a prayer on my lips, a distant hope in my eye, and a dream (literally, dreams) of a orange horizon just over our home that seems to chase away the darkness. I have no answers, and many times I will trip and fall just in my fear for you. Yet I will continue to live for the very fact that you will see a better day. Travis, don't give up. I love you.