Sunday Father

BobI love the man, and I still rely on his strength.

I saw him only on weekends during my formative years. The days were short, and filled with his desperation of trying to form me into a man. Trying to make some kind of a connection.

Once I forgot some school books and had to run back to his apartment to retrieve them. He was sitting in his kitchen crying like his heart was splintering. Holding a picture of me. I slipped back out before he could notice me there.

I saw him tonight while busking uptown, then realized it was my own reflection in a store window.

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Filed under Musings, Public Diary

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