The Uncanny Valley

Emotional destitution

Image by Pitt Rom.

Born I unknowing of You,
a distant silhouette
of a broken amalgamation
of fact and tale and
forged recollections.
One story held for time
before another formed
from other ink.
That story was stitched
into the seams of scars
left by you.

Born in pain
and followed by pain
you had no choice
but to pass it on.
You had no choice
but to let the pain
mesh with yourself
and mold your future.
An infection spread
by inaction.
And yet I all the same
vow to keep the pain.

A decision was made.
You made your decision
you say.
A decision
you named it.
The closest you came
to claiming it.
And yet, it wasn’t you,
was it?
Not the decision you thought
Not a decision at all
You were…
Indecisive
And the decision was made
for you
By stronger than you.

And yet,
life goes on
and more then zero
decisions were made
on either side
and the silhouette
would fade and form;
a whisper once,
resembling more another.
Sewing stolen valour
into masked memories.

Stand you there,
At the doorway of falsities
With which you once
used to leave
only to return
all the same
with stories swallowed
by fog and falsities
cushioned in a case of lies
to soften your own fall
from never earned grace.

Wobbly you walk,
in and out of the picture
maintaining impermanence.
A coward walks on blurred lines
to ensure uncertainty
in every step.
the silhouette remains
as unsure of himself
as those around him.

Image by Pitt Rom.

  © H. R. Sinclair 2025

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When I was born, my father was caught cheating - with a family friend.
My mother gave him another chance.

When I was two, my father was caught cheating - with the same woman.
My mother kicked him out.

When I was twelve, he attempted to return into our lives - he was already raising her children. He had a brand new life.

When I was twenty, I attempted to rebuild a relationship - he referred to the woman as “his decision”.

He assumed that because it was his decision it somehow absolved him of some sin, but was it even *his* decision at all?

It was his cowardice, and indecision, that led my mother to decide for him.

He remains a distant silhouette too uninteresting to reconnect with…

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