I think of you every day, without fail.
I miss your music, and I can hear it; even now.
I can hear it when the wind makes the trees dance.
I hear it when the rain pitter-patters on windows, no matter where I am.
I hear it in a bird’s gentle song.
I hear it in the distant howl of a dog, much like the ones you loved so much.
Dammit, I even hear it in my children’s voices.
Papa, I remember your music. It’s everywhere, and yet it’s still nowhere at the same time.
I just wish I could remember the sound of your voice.
Never full circle 