Analysis of 6,615 Days

Somewhere between then and now
I went from
"Dad, stop telling me what to do."
to "Dad, tell me what to do."
Maybe you never left us.
You simply passed through another door
that I can't walk through.
Maybe you're in a different expanse.
Sometimes I hear you in my heart.
Sometimes I feel you in my bones.
I guess my eyes can't see you.
The enclosure is too broad.
You're a ceaseless illumination.
A yearning coldness discerning silent expression.
Momentary as quickly as it came.
The nudge of a wintry tranquility
left beyond of your leaving.
Not for a moment
can time fully erase these blemishes.
It only masks our tolerance.
Some days it wears a veil
of distress
created from dimming remembrance,
and imaginations of things that could've been.
And at other times,
at different schedules,
it draws from different structure
of substance more pleasing.
A far more poignant twinkle in my inspiration.
Something that reminds me,
advises me
that even if I,
even if we all lost you,
you never really, fully departed.
We never truly lost your spirit.
You're in every mirror I look in.
6,615 days.