Dear dad.
It's October now, the leaves have changed their colors and as the sunlight filters through their skin and bones making them translucent to those who care to look, the thought of you passes through me along with autmn winds.
And I wonder how much of me you remember.
The years have rolled by so seamlessly almost, like freshpaint piling layer atop of layer to hide that bright pink you had coated my bedroom walls in when I was eight.
As the seasons continue to change, while the world pivots in the same direction, I wonder how much of me you want to remember.
From my favorite color to the things I liked to eat, do those uninteresting facts about me look like small print on empty prescription bottles that you tossed into the trash without a second thought?
How much of me have you chosen to remember?
Are there parts of me still locked away? In the smallest cranny, hidden in the cupboard of your soul, is the girl who covered your face in stickers hiding in the dark?
On the second day of September did you look to the sky and count the years I've been alive while the changing leaves obscured your view of our dying sun?
Or is that a piece of me you have chosen to forget?
It's October and as I stare through the skin and bones of the leaves who bare their all to me, the thought of you is somber and carried away with winds of Autumn.
