I flipped page after page, in awe of your ability to express your optimism, fears and wicked insights. It was handwritten in precise letters formed by a talented and impassioned soul.

I wish I could take credit, my dear, but I am only your father. Inspiration and creativity are singular elements no gene pool can determine.

I shouldn’t be reading your journal. I’m not suspicious, I promise. But you won’t talk to me anymore and I just want to know you- however I can.

You’ve grown up and away from me, as I always knew you would, but I realized I can’t wait for you to return. I’m secretly fearful you never will and that would break me. So, please forgive my trespass this time. I’ve learned enough to see that you will be fine.

© 2021 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.

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