Today is the third year that my father is not with us anymore.
I know that is a long time, but still there is no day of my life in which I don't miss him terribly, in which I don't have to stop my tears, in which I don't ask to myself if he is proud of me, in which the answer is NO, he cannot be proud of me as I am, cause I am a disaster, in which I don't feel ready to be without him, in which I apologize for many things, for being gay, for being not able to be a father.
I need his pat on my ass, his way of kidding me, of joking my serious dramas, of letting me feel special, unique or stupid and small.
I thought this was going to be less and less.
But I realize I just got use to it, use to this hole that makes me feel weak and takes away my faith in life, people and God.
Probably I'm high pathetic but...
This is it.
Mi manca il papà... mi sento così stupido.
Mi manchi papà, ma dove cazzo sei?
Andrea