I. When I was kid, my Father taught me how to make a kite. I didn't do well because by the time my kite was over the sky, I lost grip on the string and it went flying away from me, departing away from me, the kind of departure that makes one creature feel lonely and in grievance inside. Because, after all, it was the first time I held and made a kite by myself. And it only took a nick of time for me not to see it anymore.
II. I cried for two days after the kite incident. My Father told me it was okay. I told him it was not because I wanted to my kite be in the sky, the picturesque kind, floating amongst the clouds and taking a kiss to the Sun.
III. Maybe I was supposed to let it go and let me realize I could make another one. And this time, I knew, I would be more careful in letting things go.
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A/N: Just so you know, I like making prose and dialogue stories. This is one of my favorites.
Chapter is dedicated for flowershapedstars.
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Roofs
Poetry"Forgetting is a lot like leaving someone or somewhere you recognized as home." (Copyright © Flores, Catherine 2015)
