I don't tell my Dad
That I miss him.
Neither does he.
He asks me if I ate properly.
He asks me if my headaches are less frequent.
He asks me if I'm out of money.
Same questions.
Every morning.
I am not sure
If I should tell him
That my head is a mess
On really bad days.
I don't see
how that would help.
So,
I tell him not to worry,
I tell him I'm alright,
I tell him I'm doing just fine.
He tells me the same.
I am not sure
If I should tell him
That my thoughts
Don't let me sleep
Even though the clock,
Staring right at my face,
Is reminding me,
That there is barely a single living soul
On the street.
So,
Instead of picking up my phone
And dialing his number,
I keep scrolling
Through our pictures.
I'm guessing he does the same.
He doesn't talk much,
My dad.
He listens.
Patiently and carefully.
He knows I don't like it
When he isn't being attentive.
He doesn't like being clicked.
He knows me enough
To smile for the 172nd time
For me to click the perfect picture.
He doesn't like being told
What and what not to do.
However, he nods his head,
If it's me on the other end.
He has seen me grow up
From the little girl
Who needed her dad
Every second, minute and hour
To the girl,
Who is independent,
Who he depends on
To be his wake-up call.
In the midst of growing up,
I have seen him grow old too.
I am not sure
If I should tell him,
That the freedom and the independence
Suffocates me
On really bad days.
So,
Instead of ranting to him
About how much better
It would've been
Had he been around,
I ask him if he's proud of me.
He says "Very".
My heart is all giddy.
And everything makes sense
For a little while.
He doesn't talk much,
My dad.
I remember the days,
When we did nothing
But sit on our patio.
I am assuming
He used to think about things
he never mentions
As I fall asleep
In his arms.
I guess that is why
I find silence
more comfortable
than dinner table talks.
So,
here I am,
Sitting on my patio,
Wondering if I should dial his number,
To tell him,
That the sky is clear
And full of stars.
And how I wish he was here,
So I could fall asleep,
In his arms.
I have never told my Dad
That I love him.
Neither has he.
