Pessimism Has Always Been Your Strong Suit

my dad exists in my life like paintings. like the art exhibition i didn’t expect to find myself so immersed in. each piece revealing something new about myself, even the things i didn’t want to see. 

he exists in my life like theory. like, i’ll never be quite certain of the life he has lived, but trusting in my guesses. like, explaining his actions in the most logical way i can, and it sometimes leading to more questions than answers. all this subjectivity when sometimes you just want to know that he absolutely loves you. and he does. that’s what faith is. 

my dad exists in my life like wooden furniture. he is the framework that keeps me stable, the place i rest my head and the surface i write and i read and i learn. the bookshelves that harbour my curiosity and the drawers where i store my memories. 

my dad exists in my life like the faulty stove. pearls of gas leaking so slow and invisibly that you don’t even think about them being there. i am shaken to my core at the thought of the one match that will burn my life, as i know it, to the ground. 

the thought that there is a life that exists without him.

Alice Mahoney is a philosophy student in England. Alice writes about love, family, and mental health, and plans on one day releasing a poetry collection.