A painted image of my soul could be
The figure of a gnarled grand oak tree
With roots planted in sordid history
I am alive but barren and broken
The past has secrets we’ve never spoken
Knowing the truth is a lucky token
For those who wander, unafraid to ask
Questions to answers they hope to unmask
Knowing you was my impossible task
Regret is indecision we swallow
The bitterness of waste leaves us hollow
To the grave, unspoken stories follow
I learned we weren’t so different at all
After you died, and I could never again call
The last time I saw Garry, I was four. I found him again when I was 27, in 2010. We emailed each other until I had my first son in 2015.
Garry and I had been talking for a few years when he broached the subject of a meeting.