Him

I missed him yesterday. I missed him all day long. Most days I can hear him so clearly. Sometimes, I can smell him. Sometimes he is so close, I feel like if I turned around fast enough, I could catch a glimpse of him.

There is a part of me, a little girl part of me, that is sure he lives in the moon, and can hear me when I talk out loud to him. I know that's bizarre and ritualistic, and that I should know better, but I find myself doing it anyway.

He wasn't a perfect father, but he was mine. I have this list of questions I would just love to have answers to, but, as with so many questions I have for my father, for God, for the universe, those are not for this life.