noah's dad

I held you and knew you were mine. And now when I don’t get to have to in my arms, in my reach,  how do I tell myself that you are somebody else’s? I can try. I am trying, my son. You are slowly and steadily forgetting me and I, in earthquakes, remember you more and more everyday.

Writing has been a refuge for your dad for years. When things go bad your papa goes to the writing pad. And one day you will know that there were years when I never wrote a word. You will be old enough to understand the circumstances that I will never tell you. You are my son, Noah. Even when I don’t want you to, I know you will know.