Ponder

Just a man. Just a man here on this pseudo leather couch. Like sitting on plastic. Oddly comfortable, sticks to your skin, my dog laying a few inches from my feet. He allows me to feel normal. Like the past year hasn't happened. Where is his wife? Out and about dealing in her own way. The only way an artist can. Creating, destroying, all at the same time. I feel, my life is the clay in her hands.
She molds me down futures path. Yet I sit here on the couch alone. Funny how you feel alone but at times you feel the most alone when your with others. But life is strange, stranger yet is how he feels about his addiction. This addiction, widely available, and supremely punishable. Just open a new browser, the voice says, the one with the man in the mask, he will help you hide. Although inside you wish to be caught, punishment for which you might actually feel. Pain is a feeling, a bad feeling, yet a feeling all the same The desire to feel sometimes leads to wrong, leads to self punishment. Maybe its to feel an ounce of her pain.
I see her everyday, sleeping when I wake, beautifully laying on the bed like the lumps of a white sandy beach, each mound elegant in their own way.
4 years, is what he took from her. A man so close to her that she called him daddy, but only for the location he resided next to her mother. This man, if you can call him that, stopped being that daddy, the day he killed her. He stopped being a man the day he looked upon a young girl with the eyes of desire. His own child, not by blood, but he changed her diapers. One wonders when that first inclination began. When that spark blazed in his eyes towards someone he raised.
From the outside looking in, one would be enraged at the aftermath. Headlines stated : "Husband helps wife turn in Father in Law. Loved ones turn away"....
Never have I seen so much selfishness, 3 years of touching, prodding, playing, manipulation, molestation she went through. RIP went the life she would have lived. Deceased was the path that her feet once trod. Pushed to the side to fend for her own. Her mom far beyond call, even if she was in the next room. Siblings under her wing. She was afraid if they found out the man would abuse them. A secret is what she kept, his secret, his sick little secret, his flesh that was molded from his own. His flesh that he had carved out and sacrificed to Idols. His flesh that he worshiped and did as it pleased. Flesh....
The aftermath like a war zone, our feelings of being ripped from the entire family, the ones whom we loved the most, his parents did not believe us.  Maybe they had, but either way they were on his side.... The rapist, on his side. They betrayed their grand daughter, cast her aside, further pushing her off the path. Ones whom she loved so much, their gaze, their hugs, their encouragement, of whom no one else she honored most.... Said it was wrong to turn him in. Yes we are Christian, stating we shouldn't turn in one of our own. Yet.... If it was an unknown man.
If it was not their son, if it was a man that no one knew, how would they react. Someone whom came into my wife's past bedroom and did unmentionable things to her. What if it was that man, would they pick up their pitchforks and torches and pursue the monster for what he truly was? What if this monster would have killed that beautiful girl? What if one day when she said no, he smashed her head in from a unfathomable desire he had to fulfill.
Behind bars he corresponds with his lackeys tormenting the just. Telling lie after lie never admitting guilt. Although it was not her that caught him in a lie, it was her sister. The one whom her mother loved, his mistake. Trying to pursue her was his mistake, another innocent he was trying to take. Another life he wanted to fake. But to the monster we drove the stake. Took his life from this mortal realm, and cast him into outer darkness where he lies. Lies on his bed, possibly reading, lies on the floor, possibly beaten, lies from his mouth, to all whom visit.
Can you believe we have been chastised for not visiting. It was heard "To not visit him was in the wrong enough" how can any believe this. Sympathy they call for, forgiveness they cry. TRUST I SAY, can not be mended in the same way that sympathy they called for and forgiveness they needed could be given. For forgiveness he has and Sympathy with much valued pity is given. But now, only time can heal, this small wound only seen in our spirit.
For this was not a mortal wound, but spiritual, like a chunk of our soul pitched across the darkness and now we trudge along knee deep in who knows what trying to reach our humanity we once had. Our innocence that love in families exists. Now together we chug along hand in hand, laying down our lives for the other to climb over, and when we reached the end we fall just low enough to pick the other up. We are learning to live for the love of each other. We are a family, her, I and the Dog.
We are family, structured and loved. Loved of all, everyday for all. We love. Love brings us close to Christ, a brittle bridge, yet a bridge it still is. Some may think this foolish, yet if they were to think of the things they hold dear. The things that help them get through the day. Then relate they might for my cry of my life, yet today does it matter?