Ad Astra

I think about my father a great deal. I feel the warmth of joy and in contrast, the frigidity of fear. Often times I'm left confused, no closer to the meaning of it all. I have my suspicions, but it's possible I won't ever have the truth. When you feel the need to ask the question, "did they ever really love me?" A part of your soul reaches towards something, something of no matter. Something devoid of presence. Something not quite there. So how do we move on? I don't know. But it must end. Or else, why are we still here?