Carys Comma

My Daughter,

Crushed

In pieces

We fall

Before our father

Beyond Origin

Ragged and tired, I awkwardly try to guide you through these first months of your time here. Lithe and flame soaked, you shimmer with energy and life, oblivious to the Struggle.

Someday, you may ask me why we suffer. I will flee the question like a chickenshit coward that prefers darkness to light. But, if I am honest with you, I will say that it all comes back to our Father, who is in Heaven, hallowed be his name. This, though, will come as no comfort to you. It is none to me.

Every year, in my days as a boy, we would run out of firewood. My Dad would prod me to get on my boots and warm clothes, while he went to prepare the chainsaw. Through the wind and cold, he would trudge through deep, merciless winter snow. I would follow in his path, where the snow was less deep, and the effort less miserable.

Dada