The strength to carry.
I squirm to disappoint. My mom, my girlfriend, my best friend, my siblings, my teachers. I catch the moments of disappointment in a bucket and look down at their endless depths. A galaxy of failure glooms back at me. And when I reach to scoop it out, my arms aren’t long enough. I come up with a handful of air and taste of salt on my lips.
Why not put the bucket down, you say? Why not take off your feet, I say. Hang your jacket of daily judgments on the door when you come in, brush your teeth from all the meaningless, empty words stuck in them, and leave without kissing goodbye the sweet puppy looking up at you with big brown eyes.
I catch the moments of disappointment in a bucket. I carry them gently, each one precious as a reminder of how I missed an opportunity to make them happy. Drops start small enough and we do our best not to let the bucket fill but still the weight is constant, heavier some days than others. We do our best.
