Is dawn. When I wake to sunless mornings and seek him out on the tiled floors. I still hold such expectation, to trip across the kitchen and climb into his arms.
I smell coffee and smell his smile. I see orange and suddenly my whole world melts.
Today, waking to emptiness, artfully decorated in my sister's farm tee, I can feel my heart, not beating but begging him back.
The hardest part of this life without my father is the everyday, is the lack of eventual peace, is the impossibility of wholeness without him. Is knowing so intimately the hollow of a broken heart.
