My father’s rushing, pumping, thumping blood pulses through my veins. In time with my heart, yet somehow separate.
The strings and speckles of yesterday dance in my peripheral vision and scurry away as I turn my eyes to get a better look.
The tinglely, prickly, tickle of nothing, crawls across my back and down my legs, letting each of its ten thousand legs fall individually onto my skin.
I can feel you peering at me in the darkness. I can see you listening for my voice. I can hear you reaching out to grab my hand.