The sleepless nights on the road in the car next to my father, I didn't see it then but they were his way of dealing with that frantic restlessness. I have it too, sometimes when the silence gets too loud here I walk down to NYU and sit with Henry in one of his lectures. The pretty pony tails and hipster glasses are a forest for the trees in front of me, I imagine what it must be like to have a clear view of the rest of your life.
Kamikaze raindrops on the windows, everything out there reminds me of something. Where he kissed me, where he held my hand in his, where I felt that maybe I was nothing to him. When my father came to New York he had to leave almost instantly and move to Los Angeles and my mother. I know he always wanted to come back but he only got to do it once years later, with me.