Hey dad, Keep sleeping. Expressing this while those red eyes staring right into mine, anyways wouldn’t be possible for me. It’s so bad, that even the thought of your mind processing these lines makes me shiver, not out of fear, rather discomfort. Its 0134, the usual time of my ‘POOL OF THOUGHTS’. I usual dive into one after certain incidents or situations. Today, though, is an unexpected, unwanted, unimagined dive, hence making it deeper than ever. My feet won’t touch the bottom, dad, they just won’t. And so I sit here beside you, stalking you. Maybe a ride of those aging curves on your forehead will drag me out. Long drives prove to be the best, after all. Don’t they? A lot of weird and not so weird things constituted the pool today. Things that have had crossed my mind a hundred times already, but I never seemed to pay much attention to them, knowing they’ll vanish. But today, dad. Today they popped up and the wait for them to vanish never seemed to end. They didn’t go away. They just wouldn’t, until I realized that they are not to be ignored and passed away. They matter. They matter more than I’ve been assuming this whole time. I have been rude to you, dad. I have been neglecting your scoldings ever since a tinge a maturity struck my fickle head. I have done things, knowing you didn’t like them at all, knowing you didn’t want me to do them, knowing they’ll make you upset, make you angry. I now realize those things never gave me enough joy, at least not enough to be worthy of making you upset. There have been times I’ve purposely tried to make you angry. Dad, I know. I know haven’t been performing well as a son. Not well at all. I know, my actions have been what they shouldn’t have had been, my reflexes have been harsher and ruder than they were required to be. And the thing is that, I’ve known this since a long time, dad. A long time. Every next morning, after a dive in the pool, I’d wake up an optimist, energized and prepared to be the son you’ve always imagined me to be. Prepared to see you satisfied. Prepared to live happily ever after. But, it doesn’t always go as we plan. Does it, dad? After all my efforts and optimism and preparedness and energy, I still seemed to lack some things, dad. I still seemed to make you upset. I still seemed to be not performing well as a son. It was irritating, dad. Irritating AF. I’ve often been given the ‘mature one’ title by my friends. I’ve often been told that I tend to understand things more than others and hence give appropriate reactions. Trust me, dad, I’ve tried to look at things from your point of view. I’ve tried to walk a few miles in your shoes. I just never could make it to your level. I fell every time, dad. Every time. I just couldn’t. I’ve started losing hope, dad. I’ve started to believe that making it work isn’t in my hands, after all. There have been times when I lost it and came straight to you, prepared to hug you and just go with the flow. I never could. It’s been 17 years since we first met, dad. We haven’t hugged even once. Not even ONCE, dad, as far as my memory goes. I’m one year away from adulthood now and it has been a huge obstacle lately, I wish it wasn’t. Dad, I like you the way you are. It’s alright if we won’t ever make it work, it’s alright if we won’t ever hug. It seriously is, because I don’t think there could’ve had been someone better than you. I understand you, your actions, your scolding, everything. At least, I think I do. Good night, dad. I know.