nostalgia

ive been in the place of my birth
for only a couple of days
and already it is setting in.
my brand of nostalgia is not the type
written about in books.
mine is sticky, and weighted.
it is sadness, old sadness.
a sadness that is like an old friend,
outgrown,
but still comfortable.
its the comfort that scares me.
i know how i am drawn in by it.
and then i am lost in a little girl
i know only too well.

i have heard myself say the words,
"i think i get that from you"
already several times.
all to my father.
i am slow to understand my own feelings
and quick to give attention to everyone elses.
i get that from him.
i weigh the pros and cons religiously.
i learned that from him.
i am too hard on myself, and too easy on others.
he does that too.

sadness is my bedfellow.
as it has been his.
and still i see it in him.

the eyes show more of the years than any wrinkle could.
his light blue eyes
say more than his words are willing to.
and they, his eyes, are more honest.
they give away more than he wants.
more than he knows.
but i can see it.
it lives in my eyes, too.

i have prayed since i was a little girl.
more for him than any other.
i have nightly prayed that he would find
happiness.
and still his eyes have seen too much,
and im afraid he has been loved too little.

i will continue to pray for him.
as much for him as for me.
because im afraid
my fate is tied to his.

what he finds in this life,
so will i.