After the tears dried on his cracked, salt-weathered skin, he got to thinking and musing and as the mind tends to skirt over the sensitive subjects, he avoided anything to do with his child. Even in his mind he was running, shifting away from the tenderness and every time he brushed up against the mere recollections of the phone call and the heartrending moment, he’d shy away like a wounded animal to lick his hurts away in a corner. He’d always said his daughter processed like him. No, there would be no thought like that, no comparing or “what-if”ing either.
There was an escape in logic. Numbers would be his security blanket and suddenly the man had switched his mind to checks and taxes. The bitter thought that paying for Pre-college had been a waste of four grand. Stopped dead in his psychological steps, white hot, bitter rage filled his veins at the notion that he’d even had such an atrocious thought about his daughter and mentally he suffered guilt-ridden punishment. But no matter how much he mulled and pondered, there was no escaping the fact that there was no escape from the truth of reality.
No comments:
Post a Comment