I await the same sigh that comes everyday like clockwork now, from my own breath, an old woman that I don’t recognise, a voice so frail. I croak for the children to come in. And as they come, so do my only doses of joy and love, each of those afforded by a kiss on the cheek.
I imagine a bigger life. I am riding on a dragon; I leap from tree to tree. I am a poet dreaming in her warm cottage, or a seamstress working on her orders.
I did it for you. It was really all for you.