I don\'t really like my Dad, and I\'m sure he doesn\'t like me neither.
But tonight, he would drive me to work without asking \"when will you begin to drive?\" again.
But tonight, he would tape the guaze over the flamed skin of my hand, his hands gentler than I could picture them to be.
But tonight, we would not speak of our differences; an argument saved for another hateful day.
Tonight, my Dad would be a man, and I, his child.
Tonight, I would savor the peace of my Father, and he would savor the peace of his undesired child.
Tonight, my Father and me will exist in fragile harmony; a single night under ever-dimming light.