My father.

“Do you miss him?” They ask.

“No,” I tell them.

Because it’s the truth

Isn’t it?

Yet....

Yet,

Why then?

Why do I find my eyes linger

On a group of family?

Watching

As their father holds them up.

And

There’s a slight

Ache in my heart.

Why do I find myself

Wondering

Thinking

About how it would be

If he was here.

Then there’s time

Those rare calls

That go past long hours

And I find

A smile sneaking on my face.

And those times

Where I’m with a group of friends

that moment

Where I have to correct them

“...No, my father doesn’t live with us,”

Anymore.

And I feel like tears are threatening

To fall

Down.

And—

I just hate it so much.

There’s no more bitter feelings

No more pain

Just that—

A thought

Of him.

And I feel like

There’s something

Always

Off

In my life.

Maybe it’s just denial

Just feeling of upset that follows

Or... the way I learned to cope with

Things like this.

“Do you miss him,” They ask.

I stop for a second and then I answer..

“No,” yes.