I sip my coffee fast.
My dad was not ok, he found out that mom dumped him for a young guy, on Facebook.
A cloud of sadness overwhelmed the family.
We were underneath, and my sister became sick for years.
My dad shut the door of his room, a spring of tears had shown.
We never viewed dad since that drama.
Aline and I jumped on the train of life, and our wounds transformed into artistic scars.
For twenty years dad sneaked outside his room, under the dimness of the night.
Our eyes reached on rare occasions.
I knew that dad drowned for a long time, his soul abandoned his weak frame.
We respected his human remains. We carried a portrait of a young father, and remembrances of love and respect.

artwork Banksy Graffiti