fault is such a fickle little word, it can mean anything.

was it my fault?

who’s was it?

how is the blame so easy to pin, yet so difficult to accept?

was it my fault?

my mind says yes, but my heart says no.

both are each wrong in their individual ways.

i want an answer.

but i fear the reply.

and so, these questions,

they stay in my heart.

they wait to be sung out,

a beautiful phrase,

a chord,

to be absorbed into someone’s open ear.

it’s difficult to think of such things.

and yet i do.