Sometimes

Sometimes I worry about them Fae,

I worry that I will forget them, some days I can't remember what her hair was like or how his voice sounded,

Eventually I remember but you know sometimes I can't even think what my mother's face was like, how she used to hug me or the way she used to dance with me in the kitchen when she was cooking. Often I can't see my father either, his body is there but his face is just a blur and no matter how many times he flew me round the garden like his little fairy, his face just ......

......... sometimes his face, I don't know if it's really his or not.

Other times I remember them as if they are still here with me, like it was just yesterday that I last saw them but the problem is Fae that those moments are getting fainter and feel further apart than ever before.

I mean would they be proud of me Fae? For what I have done and become? But then how could they be proud of me if I can't even remember what they looked like or how they sounded?

Fae? ......

..... Fae?

.

.

.

You know it doesn't get easier Fae ...........

........ no matter how much time passes, the pain doesn't go away neither does the emptiness or sorrow

......... I just hope that

..

....

. I just hope they are proud of me, wherever they are