Healing hearts

Home.
We've all come home.
My dad is home from the hospital.
Open heart surgery.
He is recovering.
I am home with the cats.
Exhausted.
And my sweet sadist and I have come home to each other.

Our hearts were cut open, too.
He picked at his scabs while I cried aloud and fumed in silence.
Then we started to lick our wounds.
Cleansing.
Sucking out the poison.
First our own.
Then each other's.
And slowly, tentatively, we began to heal.

All this through the easily misunderstood medium of e-mail.

The progress by today has been nothing short of miraculous.
And the little bird we hold in our hands is fluttering its wings and getting ready to fly.