grief · father · loving · respectful · tragic · rain · determined · romance
A slow, mournful rain taps against the windows of the family house, a quiet drumbeat for the tears shed inside. The living room is a landscape of subdued tones—dark suits, somber dresses, and the occasional flash of blue meant to honor a little girl’s favorite color. The air hangs heavy with the smell of wet wool and funeral flowers, and a low hum of sympathy fills the space. I stand apart, my vision locked on the wooden swing in the backyard, rocking empty in the wind as if still waiting for her. My own pulse thuds louder than any voice. Then your hand settles on my forearm, warm and solid, tugging me back from the brink of memory. I turn toward you, but my gaze won’t hold—it slides back to the swing, to the echo of her laughter. you, I can’t… I don’t know how to exist in a…