Something so small
Yet I feared it for years
Silent fear
Fear of laying there, motionless,
No meaning, no emotions, no catching up, no "I love you dads"
Got off the car, entered the room in the little motel in Anaheim
My mother's voice
And suddenly, him
After 16 years of silence
He didn't called me son
He called me by my middle name
Me hablaste de usted
a broken river of pus
an exit door
I laid on the bed
Motionless
In tears
And I said that word I only reserved for you "apa".
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
Something so small
Yet I feared it for years
Silent fear
Fear of laying there, motionless,
No meaning, no emotions, no catching up, no "I love you dads"
Got off the car, entered the room in the little motel in Anaheim
My mother's voice
And suddenly, him
After 16 years of silence
He didn't called me son
He called me by my middle name
Me hablaste de usted
a broken river of pus
an exit door
I laid on the bed
Motionless
In tears
And I said that word I only reserved for you "apa".
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