Live

8. Last, lost

It should have been my awakening.

Nine provinces away, my kin
are on a wire, but falling was not an option.
The wind slapping their faces were harsh,
but so is this responsibility.
Years ago, I would blab
'never be again on a tightrope,
trapped in a circus,'
I ran away from the spectacle,
got carried away like a balloon.
Amnesia became an addiction,
but I long for home
when I'm sober.
That's when I complain,
why do we search our own souls on strange lands?
Or long for solitude
even if it meant we'll fear
how we make our lives?
Could we not stumble?
Should we fall back?
I can't even walk on a straight line anymore
yet I am still their last, (lost) option.
Sometimes my days are just about breathing,
yes,
heavily,
sometimes a sigh,
or only as a matter of fact
anymore.
And yet, I go back
for just one call
from my distressed father
was enough for my awakening.