I’m beginning to think of you
more often than not
Maybe it is the change of seasons, the colder weather
Or the changing seasons of my life
It is strange to think that
My father’s youngest baby, is an adult
Already so grown up
Carrying the weight of premature maturity
Yet still growing into her ‘big girl shoes’
When I ask my mother about you
She tells me stories I never heard before
I expect to hear the same ones
for the billionth time
Because I never tire of hearing them
Even if I know the beginning, middle, and end
But now that I am this age
I believe she thinks I am ready for these stories
I’ve now learned about your flaws
I have lived enough life to love you despite
I thought I knew all I ever could know about you, dad
I was always looking at your life through the rose colored glasses
And I believed it was all I had
That too much time had passed to ever discover more
People die and with them go the stories about you
And each time it’s another chunk of you, gone from this world forever
This is why I will always speak about you
Why I will always ask about you
Why I will always want to hear about you
Why I will always write about you
To keep you in the world a little longer
t.b.