We Love You, But We Love Us More...Let Us Go

The tea is steeped in heavy silences, in the kitchen where the shadows lean, false narratives held the porcelain like a fortress wall, a gatekeeper to all that might have been. Lies have woven the threads of old, familiar stories, of safety found within its narrow sight, while we are tracing maps of desert mesas, and chasing down a different kind of light.

For years, the echoes of a stolen history were muffled by the tales chosen carefully to tell, a father cast in ink of false descriptions, a truth locked deep within a silent cell. But blood has a rhythm that refuses silence, and roots can stretch beneath the shifting sand; We’ve found the man painted as a phantom, and we are reaching for his weathered hand.

The Land of Enchantment calls across the distance, with turquoise skies and peaks of dusty red, away from every doubt planted here, and every hollow word that was said. You clutch the hem of seasons fast departing, afraid of what the open air might do. But we are breathing in the scent of cedar, replacing every gray with brilliant blue.

You’re not losing a son and a daughter-in-law, but we see the way your heart begins to tighten, the way you fear the space we’re moving toward. But love is not a debt or a dominion, and truth is not a thing that can be stored. We’re mending what was broken by the whispers, reclaiming what was lost in years of war; we love you for the support you gave so freely, but we must love our own lives even more.