Posts
Challenges
Portals
Authors
Books
beta
Sign Up
Challenge
Challenge of the Month II
The Gift. Write the story of a gift, passed from one hand to another. Perhaps it is a heart-warming gesture of kindness and goodwill. Or perhaps it is something more foreboding, more sinister. Perhaps it is a simple, material object. Or perhaps it is something more amorphous, more esoteric. Whatever it is, it must be a gift. Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or Prose.
Profile avatar image for rnwymystery
rnwymystery
57 reads

A Father like Figure

one man

two rooms

three years

and shit ton of tears

Yet he stayed seeing a light, a gift not even I could see in myself. Struggling with inner demons I didn't always treat him with the highest of kindness like I hoped. Sometimes I feel as if I took advantage of his ever forgiving and understanding self. Saving me more times than I could count not only from others, but myself. He's a gentleman, a scholar, and a true comedian who may every now and then struggle but nevertheless always the first one there to lend a hand.

The last month in our makeshift home he handed me a letter, a poem, and a journal. A journal, to create. To document everything, from highs of life (and getting high) to the lowest of lows of when I relapsed or bittersweet endings of thoughtful ‘long-lasting’ relationships. A letter, of his thoughts and emotions of our time together, not a farewell letter, but more of asking me make it out safe. No matter how rough the seas may get. Finally, a poem. Throughout the years I have never scared him as much as February 9th. Empty pill bottles and a stone cold face, I was ready, I felt pure, everything felt so much clearer. Yet the moment I stepped into our makeshift home I knew it was wrong. Saving me once again I was to a room. Leaving him alone to his thoughts and being tossed into turmoil, he wrote his way out. Putting his feelings together to understand them himself and passing them onto me so I understood.

He’s no guardian angel for he is mortal. But he is my gift sent down from the heavens not to guide me, but to assist. To watch me not calm my oceans but learn to sail smoothly upon them.

We may not be together by blood but our words, our feelings, move passed and are larger than that. Since finally, for the first time, I have a father.

1
0
0