When brown eyes are crying
“Don’t cry brown eyes.”
The voice came out of nowhere, waking me up. I found myself in an embrace, buried in a bosom and fingers stroking my hair.
I looked around but no one was there, not even the priest. The train rode steadily on through the night. Landcapes and Martian worlds passed by my window. I must have been dreaming a dream.
Echoed voices. Softly. It was my memory playing tricks on me. I have always been on this train. No one has ever called me brown eyes or is that the lie? I remember Egypt and Paris, but I don’t remember her name.
No. I am sure you loved me. Maybe I read it in a comic book and took created it to become my own memory. Lois Lane to Superman perhaps? MJ to Spiderman? It doesn’t matter. Does it? I hear a whispered yes and that is good enough for me.
I turned to Isaiah. “This is the way, walk in it”, and I will try. That’s all I can do is try. I can try to love you more than I did yesterday and I can try harder to follow the course that He has me on. None of it makes much sense, but nothing ever does.
The baby is sleeping now. Her tubes removed from her lungs. The engines of this train are humming, synchronized to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Rest easy little one, tomorrow is going to be another day.