When I was 6 my dad and I would go into my garage with some lawn chairs and we would sit under protection as chaos hailed two inches away from our toes. He'd tell me stories of things that happened when he was a kid. He'd tell me why it rained and why lighting struck. He'd tell me how to find out how far away the storm was. He'd tell me how happy he was just sitting there with me. I remember feeling loved and warm inside. I remember being so close to him. Sometimes we'd just sit there and watch and not say anything, the silence filled by the calm and constant melody of rain coming down against the roof. We never came inside until it was late in the evening. I'd go to bed filled with happiness, tranquility, and fulfillment. Why doesn't he want to do it anymore? Nowadays all he cares about is my grades. I try to show him that I can finally do an Ollie. And he doesn't look while he mutters, "that's cool" over his shoulder. He's busy all the time. I barely see him on weeknights. And when I do see him we fight. My dad was literally my superman. He gave me the ability to fly higher than I ever could imagine. And now he is the person I want to distance myself from. I'm scared of what we'd talk about in the garage nowadays. And I know that it's my fault, I know that I'm not something to be proud of in his eyes. But I would give up everything I own to go back to that summer night when I was 6. I would give up everything right this instance to hear his voice telling me why lighting strikes. I would give my clothes, my guitar, my skateboard, everything that I own, just to hear him tell me how far away the storm is. If I could go back, if only for a minute, I would tell him how much I love him. I would tell him how id change into something he isn't proud of anymore. I'd warn him that I'd grow away from him. But he'd be to busy to listen. He'd be to busy loving the little boy sitting on a lawn chair in a garage watching the rain. I know that i can't go back. I know that I'm stuck in this terrible place. I know that no matter how hard I try I won't be able to sit in the garage with him the way I used to. I know that we've grown apart. I know that no matter how many times my brain tries to remember how easily I could convince him to sit with me, I'll never be able to remember. I know that he will never be the same. I used to be the center of his universe, and I his. We'd go on week-long camping trips in the summer, and the experiences we shared in the woods can never be replicated. He used to come home from work and I'd run to him, my arms spread wide, and he'd lift me up and playfully tap my head on the ceiling. But I know now that I'm stuck here. In this damp, depressing, gloomy, and horrible place called reality. I guess we've both matured. I've matured so much that he doesn't feel the desire to lift me up towards the sky when I run to him. He doesn't feel the need to tell me he loves me as much as he did. We've both matured, and we've broken apart the relationship we once had. And I can feel it suffocating me every **** day. I can feel the memories fading away and being replaced. My brain tried to extend a friendly hand to those memories but it can never reach them. I will never feel that same way. Just like a garage, our relationship is empty. Just like a lawn chair our memories and our love is folding to a close. And just like the rain, this pain won't stop hailing down. And all I have left is one word. One question that will never receive it's answer.
Why?