I'm smiling as I write this. 

Not because I'm happy,

no.

If anything, I am quite sad.

My mom is sick,

the bank is taking away our house

and we are left broke

as my father works two jobs at the age of seventy-

his rough and withered hands

grasping tight to my mother's 

soft and shaking fingers.

He holds so tightly 

and looks into her warm blue eyes

as if to say, "it's okay" with the dance of every eyelash

and my mom's cheeks get rosy red

like a teenage girl after her first kiss

and there I am,

sitting in the background watching,

learning from this sweet escapade of love,

hoping that one day I have something similar-

the notion that love conquers all.

and a smile sits on my stupid face

knowing that we'll be okay.