He looks like someone who is so distant from me, yet, he's alive in my veins.
He's not physically here,
but he's so next to me when I smell his scent, street and cigarettes.
He's not here,
but he is in the shape of my feet.
He's not here,
but he is on the crinkle of my eyes.
He's not here,
but he is on my tiredness of a day's work.
He's not here,
but he is on every bycicle I see around the street.
He's not here,
but he is on that Beatles' shirt that I never wear.
He's not here,
but he is on my smile.
He's not here,
but he is in every professional decision I make.
He's not here,
but he is.
He's not here...
I lost my father when I had just turned 14. Grief is such a weird thing. I keep his ID photo next to my office desk, so everytime I'm doing better for myself, he's there with me. My father was a hard-working man. I tattooed his signature (the one I took from a work contract), to never forget the effort he made to make me and my siblings secure.
To grow without a father is like missing half of your experiences, half of your lectures, half of your joy. Would I ever be depressed if this hadn't happened? Would I ever be silenced and questioned? Would I ever be fucked up? Would I?
Who would've I become if he was here all along?
Loading comments...