One of my most distinct memories of my father was when my mother was still alive.

My dad was lying on the grass,

staring at the sky smiling.

As a child I didn't understand as all I saw was the grey,

one day I had asked him why he enjoyed it so much,

and he patted my shoulder and said,

'it's love, my boy. I hope you reach love one day'.

I shrugged his words off as a child.

Once I met her,

I finally understood why he loved staring at the sky.