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I have turned twenty-eight now. You were at my age when you decided To settle down with Mama. Now that the passing of time has Gone far, enough to make us Realize the idealized moments Of our lives, momentary though It seemed, let me speak to you the Unspeakable words unheard for so Long. Papa, most of the time I would catch myself conversing Within your tone and sharing your Shadow. I  am your fragments trapped In the ironic  haze of summertime and Solitude. I want you to know that Growing up without you is one of the Most injurious realities of my life---more Injurious than betraying my art and heart For music and Muses. I have learned to Yearn for nothing. But, I am hoping that Unlike the oppressive silence which haunted Our very selves for many years, let this piece of peace be our silent sanctuary of hope and Forgiveness. Your Son, Yourself
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Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
A Letter To My Old Man
I have turned twenty-eight now. You were at my age when you decided To settle down with Mama. Now that the passing of time has Gone far, enough to make us Realize the idealized moments Of our lives, momentary though It seemed, let me speak to you the Unspeakable words unheard for so Long. Papa, most of the time I would catch myself conversing Within your tone and sharing your Shadow. I  am your fragments trapped In the ironic  haze of summertime and Solitude. I want you to know that Growing up without you is one of the Most injurious realities of my life---more Injurious than betraying my art and heart For music and Muses. I have learned to Yearn for nothing. But, I am hoping that Unlike the oppressive silence which haunted Our very selves for many years, let this piece of peace be our silent sanctuary of hope and Forgiveness. Your Son, Yourself
Quezon City, Philippines September 27, 2013
jose-remillan
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Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
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