I wake up and the day feels lighter,
as though the weight that lay heavy in my chest has let go
even if it isn't forever.
And I prepare for the day with a bounce in my step, thinking rarely of all those promises not kept.
But then I walk down the street and the child I pass will start to cry
and I'll think back to the times that I cried as a child when my father had to say goodbye.
I'll carry on walking with my head held high, but then I'll see a taxi driver pass on by
and I'll think back to the time when I took a ride on Christmas Day and the driver looked down at the glee on display.
I'll carry on walking though my pace is slower and my neck has crept forward just a little bit lower.
And then I'll see the candles in a shop window
and I'll think back on the flames I lit my first day as a widow.
And laughs may ring out and smiles I may see, but the heaviness in my heart has reclaimed the key
because all I can think about with every sway,
is the taxi driver who had to work on Christmas Day.
