to my father

i simply lay on my bed for hours on end. i was tired… mentally tired. i began to tear up, as usual. my throat swelled up and i couldn’t properly speak, even if i had to. all these negative thoughts came hitting me like bricks, one after the other. they wouldn’t let me breathe. i was being choked.  

then my father walked in, which was strange. he never really senses my emotions, but in this case, he did. or maybe he heard me sniffling more than usual. he asked if i wanted to talk about it, but i barely even knew what ‘it’ was. i responded saying no and stared at the white wall that began hollowing me in by each second. the tears that were bristled along my eyes had caused my vision to blur.  

piano chords started playing. soft ones of old tunes i would hear as a young child. my father was playing the dusty piano as i still lay there, unaware of what his intentions were, but i allowed it to happen. the hands around my neck loosened and i was able to take a deep breath and close my eyes. he was playing a composed piece he created years back—before i even knew how to play the piano, and before i entered the dreadful concept of reality. i was at peace.  

the piano was playing,

playing,  

and playing.  

then the soft notes stopped echoing through my room. it was completely silent, except that i was able to hear my own heartbeat from my own ears. after mere seconds, i heard my father say “i love you.” i haven’t heard him say that in years. per say, it was obvious for he is my own father. he felt the need to say it, even though he has been showing it for all these years.

showing love is more beautiful than the words of  

“i love you.”