Dad, I love you

I’m sitting, with my head tilting as I look at my father

I look at pictures were my father was young

He seems worn

I’m torn

I feel at fault, but it’s  life’s fault.

He loves corn but his teeth are worn

And when I feel his worn hands

as he caresses my stomach

Those hands make me feel melancholy.

I feel a sadness that tells me that I have to hurry up and make of my life what it’s destined to be.

Patience, maybe that’s why you will never come to me.

Knowing that everything I love will one day die makes me not want to feel

I try to prepare myself for the end as it’s always near.

But I’ll never be ready.


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