I stand in a broken city
smoking rubble and debris scattered among the ashes
I stand alone.
I walk, rummaging through the litter
once important things that have been reduced to cinder by a whisper.
A single word.
I sift through a pile of broken dreams
memories in technicolor
all of the “should haves”
displayed before my eyes
I stand, and brush my hands on my pants
look around myself and sigh
sometimes you have to break before you can begin to heal
I have to wonder what people will say.
will the “I told you so’s” hurt more than those who think I am simply weak?
Will they see how broken I really am?
Will they care?
Why should I care what people think?
Why do their opinions get to me?
I must think of my daughter – what’s best for her
and do it.
I gather my tools around me
my heart, my mind, what little strength is left
I take one last look at what once was
and begin the foundation of what will be.