My father had lung cancer. He died without the answer to a question that I knew. My father had a temper, a horrible temper, and he could not even remember my name.
I haven't spoken to my brother in a year, mostly because lived in fear of the emotions he felt, of the pictures on the shelves, and most of all, my brother feared himself.
Tomorrow I'm leaving. I'll be gone. I know you'll miss me when I'm gone. Tomorrow I'm leaving. I'll be gone. I know you'll miss me when I'm gone, and I'm never coming back.
The feeling came and went, anticipation came and I went and I fell into regret. And I saw your face, covered in lace, trying to hide what you always wanted to show. But I don't regret saying that I love more than you will know.