I am my Fathers Son, tethered to his image in others eyes, to be judged  on how I compare to somebody I barely knew. I love my father, or that’s what I remember feeling, all those warm hearted memories lost somewhere in the obscurity of time. Trying to grab ahold of them while they turn vaporous in my hand. I read somewhere that every 8 years, each and every atom in our body will be replaced by a new one, even though it leaves me somewhat doleful, I get the picture so to speak always leaving behind a slightly damaged copy, a lower resolution, where smudges and coffee stains appear, the familiar aching cracks of time. I’m not optimistic in the fact that there would be many copies of myself, not that I wouldn’t wish so but considering the dice weighted against me. My families men are scorned with unfavorable outcomes, be it diabetes, cancer, or chronic alcoholism and I am the last one left to take the plunge in to that void of a terribly soothing end. Fear however does not accompany me day to day like some jolly necklace bought years back that does pendulum back and forth , as fear is but a manifestation of ones worries, and worry I know how not to. Perhaps one day I shall wake amidst all of it’s horror, fear in lustful anticipation will grip, twist and do with me as it pleases until finally i am laid to my eternal slumber, but then again I am my Mothers Son.

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