Mental Escape #7

(pic via Ferrari Sheppard)

I picture myself, all the way at the top, a

cigarette lit,

legs dangling, contemplating

everything and nothing.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet

A Heart Beats in Carolina

369 miles.

It feels like an insurmountable distance.  I picture him daily, doing things, and wonder how he's been.  For a parent, to not see your child is an emotional solitude words can't properly describe.  

I wonder if his misses me.  I replay the phone conversations in my mind, feeling they are few and far between.  I hope that he knows I love him.  I hope he knows how I want to see him soon.  I wish I could shrink myself in miniature, and hitch a ride on the next good breeze, arriving at his pillow.  Just to let him know how much I care.

Granted, for the most part, I am certain that my son love's me very much.  That he knows I love him with every ounce of me, and would be there if I could.  But there's that inkling of doubt, perhaps growing from too many seconds where I can't lift him in my arms.  Too many pivotal moments in his nearly three year old existence that I have been forced to guess about.  The last time I saw him, it was mid summer.  I fear winter will be brimming before I see him again.  I hope the ache isn't unbearable.  I hope he can understand.

This is Solace, my son.  He is truly the love of my life, and it pains me that I can't be with him.  I hope my physical absence doesn't rob him of the peace his name entails.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet