14.04.17

wackydad

You are 38. I am 5.

Some memories remain vivid:

The smell of lavender powder

Mom cutting your moustache

in the living room.

You’re sitting on my plastic yellow chair

holding a newspaper under your chin.

Motorcycle rides

around Toa Payoh.

Neopolitan ice-cream

banana splits came much later

Some memories start to disappear:

The sound of your laughter grows hazier every year.

I hope that it’s true

that part of you remains a part of me.

Then, maybe

everytime I laugh

(too rough and loud for a girl, I’m told)

traces of your laugh

will always remain even as

the things I tried so hard to remember

fade

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