happy.

The photo sat comfortably on my dressing table.
The young couple beamed happily back at me.
I shed a tear.
They were so happy, encapsulated by love

Not as much anymore.
My room’s lit by one lonely lamp,
The room light blew a while ago, but there’s no-one to fix it.
My mother runs around, providing on her lonesome.
No male figure. No bread winner. No husband to come home to.
Just her. Her two children for whom she lives,
Sometimes it affects her. Sometimes it affects us.
We never tell him; silence fills his place.
Every fortnight, if I'm lucky, my phone rings stating “Dad”
Sometimes I let it ring, others I give in and answer it.

It's been two months since I've heard from him,
But I've gone longer without contact before.

The photo’s on the floor now as my mother sobs out loud.
One year without communication causes my heart to break in pieces
Just like the glass protecting that wretched photo.

We’re not happy anymore.