On Leaving The Past Behind
There was nothing but breath leaving my lungs, this time with patience and ease.
There was nothing but breath leaving my lungs, this time with patience and ease.
I have always known two versions of my father: #1- Pleated pants belted just under the stomach scar from his motorcycle accident as a teenager, polo shirt tucked in, hair wet in an attempt to slick it back, glasses. #2 – Corona tank top, some form of cartoon character pants with an assortment of holes and/or paint splatters, white grass-stained Nikes, baseball cap.