dad

 I met you last week. Everytime I met you, I notice you hair has turned whiter. You've got no black hair left. Not even a single strand.

You're now a lonely old man, with no one who can takes care of you. Are we disobedient children, dad? Or is life drifting us apart just like that? 

You used to have a family, that could take good care of you. But you left.

What do we do now? 

I know you must be crying yourself to sleep at night. I know you must be lonely and empty. You're good at masking too. But I could not take this feeling, or have deep conversation with you. Because you are my trauma. 

Is this our fault, dad?

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