It was dry and warm and rough to the touch,
long enough on me to reach below my knees.
It smelled of the sun and the sea.
The smell brings back loads of memories.
He loves me. He does not. Maybe?
When it was time for him to go,
his jacket was bestowed to me.
Where have you gone?
When are you coming back?
I walk around aimlessly,
still waiting for him to come home.
Father, Father.
I cannot see where you might be.