No One Said This
Would Be Easy

No one said this would be easy.

As a kid, I remember smiling,
walking into school,
the teacher asking,
What do you want to be when you grow up?

I don't remember the answer.
Maybe a firefighter.
Maybe a president.
Maybe a father, raising a family,
the pillar,
the shoulder someone could lean on.

The answer was so innocent back then.
Now, looking back,
the smile is gone.

All that's left of that wide-eyed kid
is me, looking up,
staring at the stars
in the middle of the mountains.
The moonlight tells so many stories.

I wonder who else is out there looking up,
seeing the same signs I'm seeing,
looking past the stars,
trying to find their purpose.

Purpose.
It means so many things.
Not just father, husband, friend,
but the question itself:
What do you want to be?
Who do you want to be?
What are you going to be?

A man filled with love?
Or the rage that takes over?
The uncertainty,
the not wanting to be here,
or should I stay here,
fighting for what I believe in,
fighting for the dream of the little kid
who wanted to be a firefighter,
a president,
a father?

Or is it like so many other things
that slip between our fingertips,
forgetting who or what we are,
just coping with the day-to-day pain of life?

Pain sits with us.
Just because we can speak
doesn't mean ears will listen.
Just because we can see
doesn't mean our eyes are telling the truth.

I know this
because every time I touch you,
your arms no longer fill with goosebumps.
You pull away,
and in my mind I piece together stories
I can't believe,
stories that are hard to believe.

The door is here.
I watch you leave.
Your left hand on the knob,
your right holding a bag,
your left foot beginning to step out,
and my heart begins to beat,
and every beat feels like pain.

Every story has something.
Every story has its documentary,
written not just in words
but in spiritual pain.
I feel it.

Even with my eyes closed,
the tears still find their way,
dripping down my cheeks.
I see nothing but darkness,
pretending the world around me
can't see a man in need,
because you can't see me,
and you are my world.

So what do I want to be?
A firefighter?
A president?
A loving father?

In this moment,
I want to be a husband.
Someone you reach for,
who reaches back
and holds your hand.
I'm not afraid to show the world your face,
to let them see what I see.

Love.