book of the fragment

Happy father's day.

The memories before I the time I could properly talk have had evaporated only left the taste of a hollow void I was not aware of.
However I do remember, a very small fragment. Believe me, I've tried convincing people I have memories that happened before the age of two.

I remember standing by the lamp post. I remember scouting for snails, snails that glisten as the sunlight hits. I remember him picking one up carefully with his index finger and his thumb like fragile, precious little chinas.

I remember following suit. I remember picking up one after another, and arranging them in a row around the lamp post, pretending as if they would move around it endlessly, like a carousel.

And now I lift these memories, these fragile, precious memories like fine little chinas.

Believe me when I say that these were the only ones that did not evaporate from when before I could properly speak.
But they are here, like a gift from God to remind that there are two parts to me. Of which one has left too soon, before I can reach the age of which I can recall.

Happy father's day.
Love,
A

book of the metaphor

I could have done anything for you. I would've done anything in my wake to make things better instead you pushed me away like this. Some nights I blame myself. Some nights I try to convince myself that I have made the right move because I have given in too often. However it may be I still want to believe that we can have a closure. Reach out to me, please, I'm exhausted, depleted, from trying.

A.

HOWEVER IN OTHER NEWS
a) I have finally gotten a job which means I'll get more preoccupied
b) which does mean I'll be constantly busy which
c) makes it seem like my life has a purpose hAH