Things Change

Dear Dead Dad:

It's Paul, again.

I am sitting here with you all around me.

I'm drunk, big surprise. I am dead drunk. You are just dead.

I'm sitting here, like most nights so far during this, my glorious senior year, in the black cold of the white walls in room 127 of the Atlas Mini-Storage. I've got a six-pack, or what is left of it. I'm sitting here with my life, or what is left of it. Seventeen years old and you are five and a half years gone from my life and three years gone from this world.

Sometimes I think I know everything. I just want to shout, kick, scream, and slam because I know it all, I want it all, I need it all.

Sometimes, like right damn now, I just want to shout, kick, scream, and slam because I don't know anything. Stone-cold stupid, but not stone-cold sober.