He was a mountain of few


a river flowing through the

house, mostly out.

Conversations were awkward

creating uncomfortable moments,

too many to count.

His love was his work

a place he escaped to without

guilt of leaving those behind,

considering it his duty;

I knew he would rather be somewhere


He grew old without saying much

about it,

slowing his schedule but not around

the house.

He became ill and passed away.

I was living far away.

I never had a chance to say




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