“Let’s grow old together and die at the same time.”

I heard a curious sound through my open window two nights ago. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I was working on my newest art project: some stereotypical loss of identity collage of humanity screaming for more individuality. I couldn’t explain it all now. Through the red drapes I could hear the warm air rustling the leaves outside. I’ve recently taken to leaving the shades and the windows open at night, even though I cannot see what is outside because of my light reflection in the window. Somehow knowing that those outside can see me in the night is comforting. I want to be a light in the frame, I want them to feel warmth from the existence of another human being by hearing music trickling through the window screens, and see coffee steaming on the counter. But I digress.

The sound was the soft splash of raindrops on the leaves of the magnolia tree outside of my apartment. I thought of my father. He loves magnolia trees, the smell, the look, and the simplicity of the flower. I wished that he had been there with me to just sit and hear the rain fall on the petals. In the past months, my father and I have made a connection unknown to me before-for the first time; we are in the same boat, the same stage in life. We are frightened of the future together, we are working shoulder to shoulder towards a similar goal. Throwing ideas around if only to hear our own voices in the air, we drive and think out loud. I will never, ever forget the past few months that we have had together. They’ve been absolutely precious to me.

Papa-Daddy, let's do this forever.