There is a small part missing from the house. It’s just a little piece, it doesn’t really matter that it isn’t there. The house won’t fall down without it. But I notice that it is missing. I notice that it is not there, every time I walk by where it should be. The shadows play tricks on me, in my the corner of my eye, making me think that it’s there, but I know it isn’t. And when I look again I can see that it is not there. I don’t know where it went or why it’s missing. I don’t know how or when. All I know is that it is gone, I don’t really even know if it was there before. Was it there before, or did I just imagine it? Either is possible I suppose.
Most days I feel like the part that is missing. I know that sounds strange, don’t I mean I feel like a part is missing from me? No, that’s not what I mean. It’s much more like I am missing from everything else. And I am constantly trying to be the house, to have the space to hold, comfort and protect. I will let the wind and rain crash down on me, so that I can stay standing for the ones I protect.
Maybe I am the house and the missing part. Both at the same time.