A Father’s Son

My father lives in my memories now. They’re spread out in the peaks and valleys of moments we had together. Some memories stick around longer than others. Like the one where I walk into his room and he immediately goes from frowning at his window to opening up a big childish grin. Exactly like the one I used to give him when I was a child and he came back from work. Our roles were now reversed because when you spend most of your days alone, there is no higher peak than watching your likeness walk through the door. So the day I walked into his room and found him lifeless, what hurt the most was that he died alone. That this time there was no one to keep him company after a long lonely day. 

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