Work Text:
I am, unfortunately, a great detective.
The gift of insight is not kind.
I will blink my eyes and it will be tomorrow.
The moments will fade. I will forget the poured
coffee and the long walk and the sharp smile,
and we will be standing on the dock together.
The waves will part.
You will return to the sea that brought you here.
I will grin, but you will notice the smudged ink
on the first letter I send you.
For the first time, I will start hearing the silence.
Half of my home will have left with you.
I am, fortunately, a flawed detective.
The gift of insight is not perfect.
The night comes.
She cries across the silence, and I stagger awake.
Through the darkness, to her side, in my arms.
In every clumsy movement, I can feel her impossible frailty.
She seems too small to exist.
I am not you, I am not a father, and I am not enough,
but I am here.
The day comes.
Light pours through the windows,
onto the coffee-stained couch and my worn-thin shoes
and her, smiling in her sleep.
Half of my home is what you left with me.