Today my father told me he can no longer afford to meet up with his friends.

It’s not for a lack of time

and never for a lack of love,

the money just isn’t there.

He told me money can’t buy happiness,

but if you can’t afford to do what you love,

what’s the difference?

 

It’s this thought that injects me with guilt and panic,

guilt for my panic.

Guilt for the way I’m planning my solo escape from our realized prison.

Panic that even after all my planning,

the window may never open.

Not for a lack of will

and never for a lack of belief,

but because the window never had latches to begin with.


MEW 2019

Photo by Laurent Perren on Unsplash

2 thoughts on “My Window

  1. This is really great, Mitch. The flow is really great and I feel the desperation for escape. I meant to tell you that I really loved your experiment of writing through the night too.

    Liked by 1 person

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