It's days like this where I listen to sad songs about fathers abandoning their children and kneel on the big chair by the window, and look outside like I'm seven years old.
I didn't like seven years old.
I hated the first day of it.
I cried all of April twenty-forth that year.
I knelt on the big chair by the front window and felt the wind that I could see the trees felt.
The swayed and shimmered as if they could hear the music too.
Why didn't I sway and shimmer when the wind hit me?
I only got cold and determined.
Seven was the last time I thought that thought until now.
It took me long over a decade to answer that question.
I wish it was something lyrical, majestic, and deep.
It's not.
It's just science.
Sometimes science is sadder than fathers abandoning their children.