I Love You
He was a good person, a good human. His mother died when he was nine. She used to take him to the soda fountain at the drug store on Sunday after church. He could never bring himself to say, “I love you” to anyone except his children. He didn’t know what he searched for as he walked through the woods or sat “listening” to the quiet. Were his afternoon naps an escape or just leftover routine from college days? There was discord in the jazz recordings he liked to play over and over. Is this the sum of a man? He was estranged from everyone but the woman he didn't want to marry. Years ago, she had stopped trying to make him believe he was a good man.
It doesn’t matter what others think, how much sense they make. It doesn’t matter how much someone loves us if we don’t love our self. We can only change when we are ready—when we can make sense of what made us the way we are. When we can believe that all the good things someone says about us are actually true.
DIGITAL ART: LJ Austin "In the Jazz Recordings" 2023
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