it kills that i just watched you as you slowly walked away.

I miss my father. And thinking about how nice it would feel if I could also busy myself thinking of the most excellent gift i could give him for father’s day.

I miss him, and thinking what he would tell me if I tell him that I think I am in love, and again, broken hearted.

I miss him, and thinking what he would do if I tell him that someone bullied me, and some girls talked nasty things about me, that I was backstabbed , and I was so angry.

I miss him, and thinking how nice it would be if I would have the chance to massage his aching feet again, and I would talk about how the day was, what I bought from Ka Pisi, the games I played, what I want to do when I grow up.

I miss him, and thinking what he would say, now that I am already working, getting enough salary to buy him a perfume, though not as what he expected me to be, wearing my office uniform and high-heeled shoes.

I miss him, and thinking about the comfort I would receive if I tell him that I do not know how it is to trust again. That I am no longer the sweet girl who hides his slippers in the morning so I know where to get it in the afternoon when he comes back home.

I miss him, and will continue to miss him every time the cruel world reminds me that, no matter how envious I become whenever I see a complete happy family, I will never have a father that I could run to.

Dad, I miss making coffee for you. really, i do.