Now that we’re alone

13 Aug

I can be honest.

I am so good at missing my father, so adept at longing for my daddy.

I spent so much of my life missing him that – sometimes – this doesn’t feel that different. I have always wanted more of him. I know how to conjure him and wrap myself in memories of his fading southern lilt and dimpled smile.

I am still a little girl who believes her Daddy will come home again. Nothing else feels possible – in fact, I feel so certain. Is this faith or my own year of magical thinking? This is the longest the road has ever stretched between us, but that never stopped us before.

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