A week has passed since he left for his business trip, but it feels like many months that seem to slowly stretch into years.
Every time I hear the closing of the door and the sound of footsteps coming from downstairs, I'm always fooled the first second thinking it's him, when it really isn't.
I didn't think I'd miss my dad this much. It's probably because of the last conversation we had before he left.
It was the closest the two of us had ever gotten to completely understanding each other. And what we talked about was something that we always mentioned indirectly every now and then, but always avoided because one of us feared hurting the other person too much. But we actually talked about it and I think after that it made us both feel like a huge burden was lifted from our shoulders (at least that's what it felt like for me).
This is the first time (from what I can remember) that I miss my dad while he's been away.