They say I have your eyes, your nose, your smile.
Sometimes, when I look in the mirror I see it too and I wonder what else about me is like you.
I was sketching one day and my sister said that you used to do that too.
I hated her for telling me that and I loved her for it too. I hated that she knew that about you -- you are my dad, not hers.
Are? Were? Is it past tense now -- I don't know... you're still my dad but you don't exist in my world in a real way anymore. You have no body or heartbeat. When I'm sad, you can't wrap me up in your arms like you did when I was little and tell me everything will be okay.
I crave to hear more about you from the people who got to know you longer than I did, but I'm afraid to ask. Afraid to show that missing you still hurts.
So I wait. I wait for them to bring you up and then I listen intently, heart battering against my chest, while pretending I'm unphased by it. It doesn't happen much though; either they don't think of you much or they don't like to talk about you... or maybe they just don't like to talk about you around me.
You were one of my uncles best friends, apparently, and he talks about you the most.
Most of my family are done with him, had enough of his lies and his drinking -- I wonder if missing you broke him too, makes him drink more -- but he's my favourite uncle because he doesn't tiptoe around the subject of you. He tells me hilarious stories of your silly antics when you were both younger.
I wonder if he sees a part of you alive in me when he makes me smile, makes my eyes light up in amusement... maybe that's why he's the only one who talks about you so freely when I'm around.
Or maybe he just sees past the lie and sees that I miss you and I need to hear those stories, to remind me that you were real and not just some dream I had that seemed real at the time but faded as the days, months, years passed.
They say I have your eyes... I have hazy memories and a little worn passport photo to find the truth in their words.
I was looking in the mirror today and I paused, looking at my eyes--
your eyes--and I realised I don't know what colour your eyes were.
My eyes are shaped like yours, set the same way, longish lashes frame them in the same way as yours but a sadness swirls in the green of mine in a way I never saw in yours.
I don't know if your eyes were green.
I panicked when I couldn't find the picture of you to check, but it's too old and small and faded anyway to give me an answer.
I miss you. No one will ever know how much and more than that, I miss all of the things I didn't get to know, all the memories I missed out on.
You're a jigsaw puzzle to me. Some of the pieces are lost forever and I'll never get to know the full picture, other pieces are locked up tight in the minds of the people who knew you and I can't get to them unless they feel the desire to show me.
You're an abstract part of me, made up of fading memories mingled with dreams and stories I've been told about you.
I wish I knew if your eyes were green like mine.
I wish I knew you better, dad.
--xXx--
This... well, this isn't a story. I always randomly write down crap like this, like a journal whenever I'm thinking about something and need to write it down to get it out of my head and recently I started uploading some of them to deviantart, because I wasn't posting on there as often as I used to... but anyway.
It is what it says in the title really, just a thought.
They all are.This post doesn't have much of a point... except to help me procrastinate. I'm putting off finishing this werewolf one shot for a writing challenge. o.O
Later.