Dead Father, can you hear me?

Dead Father, can you hear me?

May 15, 2024

May 11th, 2024

A date etched into my soul, a memory that clings like morning mist. The ache of loss, a silent companion, wraps around me. It feels both distant and near—like a fragile thread connecting me to the past.

In the quiet of night, I hear his voice — the soft inquiry that once seemed ordinary. “Son, have you eaten?” A mundane question, now a cherished echo. His absence weighs on my chest, a hollow space where his warmth used to reside.

But memories weave their magic — the way he laughed, the stories he told. His presence lingers in the rustle of leaves, the constellations above. Each day unfolds like a bittersweet journey, footsteps echoing in empty rooms.

He’s gone, yet love remains — an invisible tether. I hold it close, like a fragile bird in my palm. His wisdom, etched into my bones, guides me through life’s storms.

He lives on, not in grand monuments, but in the quiet chambers of my heart. His legacy, a flicker of light against the darkness. And so I move forward, fueled by the memory of a father who gifted me existence — a fragile, beautiful thing.

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