Through the rain soaked window pane,
I see my past.
The house with ghosts,
from 6 years to 18 and more.
Some happy, some sad.
They speak to me in whispers,
They touch me like a gentle breeze,
before the storm.
I let them all flood over me.
I am drenched.
Do I see my future through,
this same pane of glass?
Older now almost a child.
or is it child like again?
His memories of me have faded,
but his smile is still as bright,
it's just not as easy as it once was .
To find it is much more important now.
It does not comfort me as much as it use to.
Why do we have to fade?
Are my memories of him
strong enough for both of us?
They keep me up when I should be way down.
It is just, I can't share them with my father anymore.
I know he is proud of me,
even though he can not say it.
Because he and I are still here.
The traits I have I owe to him.
That is the part of him which will always be alive and well,
Where ever I am, or he is.