And no I don’t think love ever leaves because it’s been eight years since my dad died and he is in every thought and hope and dream. and when I think I can’t fix the computer he is here. and when I eat chocolate cake he is here. and when the sun glows at 3pm he is here. and he will always be here because his life made mine, and my life will be his epilogue
Recently I’ve been thinking about forgiveness and freedom, presence and passing. He died, and he remains. He’s not here to love his favourite flowers; I water them daily. He can’t walk along his favourite path; I’ll think of him as I do. He exists in the mirror with the eyes we share, and I share his life with stories and myself. He is thought of in all that he was, all that he is.




















