A Letter to My Father

Dear Dad,

If the day should ever come

for me to have children of my own,

Then I shall be wary of the day

they ask me what you were like

Because I

Do not have much of an answer

With each passing day

my memories of you

Get fuzzier and fuzzier

Even now, I can only recall certain moments

When I used to be able to recall

Entire days

of just you and me

But now all that I am Left with

is the feeling

Of a Library having been burnt to the ground

Every now and again

When I wallow

just a little too much in my insecurities

An Eight year old me taps my shoulders

His memories of you fully intact

Oh how I wish,

I could ask that eight year old about you

If only to remember all that I had forgotten

But he is just an echo of my own memories

From before the Library was burnt down

My own Alexandria