Hey, Dad!
I know. It's been a while. It's October, but it still feels like August. I haven't left August. Let me be honest. Writing you has become difficult. Not because writing is something that I dread to do. Writing has become difficult because it makes your death real. Over the past few weeks, I've been imagining you. I have been remembering you. I have been dreaming about you. I guess it's my mind's way of playing a trick on me. It knows that I feel better when I believe that you are still here. But, you're not here. I don't even understand how that's possible. I mean, you are the reason I am here. I look like you. If you're not here, who do I look like? Who do I get my humor from? Who do I write like? It's like I don't exist if you don't. Why do I only have memories of you? I want memories and realities. It hurts to know that I can't make any new memories with you. I can't make any new discoveries with you. I can't find out things that you may have forgotten to tell me. All I have is what you have shared with me until you left. You know, I don't even know what your favorite color was. Why didn't I ask you that? I know your favorite music, sport, and food, but not your color. If I would've asked you I would make that my new favorite color. I just want to talk to you. I just want to hear you laugh. I just want to see you, smell you, touch you. I can't.
I catch myself telling Camryn stories about myself just like you did. I guess I don't want her to regret not knowing every possible thing about me. I'm not mad, dad. I'm just confused. This is the worst feeling in the world. This pain is a pain that I couldn't begin to prepare for.
Dad, I love you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
-Teen
