It was in the silence of you, that I could not understand where I came from. I looked down at my hands and ever nook and cranny of what was once a younger me. I breath in, one more time in the silence of the space  and air in which I sit. I wonder what life would have been like, if you knew, he who was your birth father. I was but to lucky to have the chance to know my own. I know his face, I know his smile, I know his way of walking in that way he did, for I had imitated it days and months before he was gone and many more months after. He who in turn was you, who though I speak to you now and know you can hear me, does not exist in the same space in which I p...

Please subscribe to keep reading.