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
