not here.

This is the consequence of your breathing, dad. Thirteen years of undisturbed sleep. I think you kind of figured it all out. It was a fairly good deal. You didn't want to go, I know. The universe decided to catch up with you though. It’s amazing how much time passed since your warmth left me. That’s more than half of my life! This is my only regret. You not seeing me grow and decide for myself; you not reprimanding me for my obviously wrong ways; you not seeing me rebel and recover. 

Did I become someone you’d be proud of, dad? Did I become the person you wanted me to be? Somehow I doubt that and somehow I’m glad that I won’t get to hear your answer. 

Moving on was definitely not easy and you’d think that after more than a decade I’d sure be able to but nope, I tried but never made it through. Then again, I guess I made a great job of stepping a foot forward each day without breaking apart. I’m not saying I pretend that I’m okay because most of the time I am with a lot of help from the living souls surrounding me. Sometimes though, it gets difficult to even get out of bed, especially today, more so realizing you won’t be there to remind me that it’s okay and I’m doing well and the world is just a fucked place suited for fucked up people and that I don’t have to worry about that because I am your pretty little girl and the world is so blessed to have me in it. But that’s what people do, I guess. They try to step forward even when a big part of them has already died. Still, it does not discount the fact that I carry the pain on my shoulders and my (disturbingly) still beating heart. It does not discount the fact that I am still that crying little girl beside you, clutching your shirt, while the doctor tries to push life back in you. It doesn’t discount the fact that the scars may have fade but still are as deep as fresh wounds. I guess I just want to say that I miss you every day and that everything would’ve been much better with you here.