A Miner For My Parents' Love

The frail chrystal of my parents' love for each other had cracks in it long before it finally broke that day  Mom stormed out of the apartment leaving behind glittering jagged shards of something that was once maybe beautiful.

 

I became a miner after that, donning my plastic yellow hat to brave the drafty tunnels of their past, sifting through their sand, salt and coal; rummaging past buckets of gypsum and nickel, relishing in the rubies and amethysts along the way.  

 

Eventually, I got older and I left the mines.

 

It became too easy to get lost, too easy to try to dig deeper, to go a little farther this time; carrying the knowing weight of the few precious stones I had managed to collect along the way.

I had to leave, scramble out, before the chapped wooden pillars startled and broke, before I was left in the black, heaving and tasting the chalky bitter memories of something that I knew I would never know.  

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