The sun is bright and the sky is so blue as I sit next to my father's grave. I put the bouquet of carnations next to it and smile bitterly, feeling the tears sting in my eyes. "Hi, dad," I say and hug my knees closer. "It's been a while." Today is his death anniversary, and just like the previous years, I come to his grave and talk to him as if he's still alive. After all, that's all I could do since I never got to see him or meet him before.Ironically, the day my mother realized she was pregnant was the day my father died. She called him when he was driving but the moment he looked down to search for his phone, a truck came out of nowhere and crashed into his car, ending his life in mere seconds. That's what mom told me, and I refused to ask any further about it. It seemed that it left a deep wound in her life and it was unnecessary to open that wound again. I have her and she's all I could ever ask for. Although having a father would have been nice. It hits me whenever I watch
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