Letter To My Father

You’re well aren’t you?

I can envy you, you know, you being in a better place and all. I can imagine.

You’re making them laugh all day long. They’re happy. I’m trying to be. Yet I am entitled to you. But off you went. For a better place.

I remember the laughter, your brown eyes lighting up like a baby with a new toy. Red wine in the glass happy to go down that laughing throat. Sometimes, I wished I were red wine. Or Guinness Malta like you called it. Or the famous StoutCola. Amazing. I wouldn’t touch that though.

Your long stories I now long for. How they were so boring back then. And I would just stare into space, pretending to listen to you repeat the stories. Over and over and over again, with the occasional laughter.

And I can go on and on and on again, with the occasional tears.

And I wish you would come today.

But the box you’re packed in is one I cannot open today. Or ever.

It’s labelled “To A Better Place”


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