It’s been a year, Dad. Longer than that now, a few more sunrises you will never see. More days passing that I don’t have a father. More days passing that you don’t have me.
Where are you?
I’ve been trying not to think about that too much. Where your soul resides. I don’t know the answer to the question and the lack of conviction I have in my theory causes me a physical tightness. Loss of breath. Squeeze my heart, uncertainty. You make me miss my daddy. I’ve opened a business of my own, you will never see and I have a slight breadth of guilt that I could have helped you.
But I know better.
So, I write. Mainly for me, these days. No comments, no traffic, no stats. a journal, a pen, sometimes from closed eyes. Sometimes, for what feels like a virgin voyage, my eyes are wide open. I miss the you I always wanted, but I can’t quite seem to say I miss the you that you gave me. That’s a little packet of honesty that hurts as much to say as it would to hear. I wanted it all to be different.
So, Ive run mental marathons this past year. In an effort to prove to myself that I am not you. I’ve sat in willful silence, meditating on the crevasse between want and need- and where your love fits in. I am an empty womb of regret and promise. Potential. You were, too.
You were, too.
I won’t spend another year ambling in the footprints you’ve left, veering off trail. This space between, it doesn’t suit me. I long for the you I never had, the you you never had. I will not fade quietly away and leave the same wake.
Year one. Everything and nothing is the same.