grey (coat) (moment)

sometimes i get stuck.

in a memory. pushing everyone out until i can remember each detail. closing my eyes to remember everything about him.

i dont care much for the surroundings of the memory. i automatically blur out where we are, who was there, what it looks like. its like my mind bokehs everything around the most important part – us. weirdly enough, this week, i’ve been focusing every intention on how it all felt.

the dryness of his hands holding mine. the lapel of his coat on my cheek. how his teeth must have felt when he seethed through his breaths. his eyes as they look down at me. the slow rhythm created by his head keeping time. whether i was a little girl, or a grown adult, slow dancing with my father was always monumental.

we had father daughter dances in high school. we went every year except my senior year – probably due to a cotillion or mutual laziness.  we’d get all dressed up, dance a little, laugh a lot, eat free food . everyone of our pictures looked like he was running for mayor. my favorite part though, which in retrospect seems natural, was dancing with my dad. as i think about, i’m surprised at all the times we had opportunities for dance to make its way into our relationship.

from dancing on his shoes to dancing when he (tried to) beat box to my dads “get it dance” to the cha cha to his “in the heights” impression to his “nutcracker ballet”. dance was always a part of our family. music, a key component.

sometimes i get sad thinking of the future dances we’ve lost. it makes me appreciate the dances we did have – especially the slow ones. while silliness through dancing was my dad’s bread and butter – slow dancing, is something he shared just with me and my mom. it was a time when he was the head of the family, the gentle provider, the sensitive father. he held me and my mom with the responsibility of eternity, smiled in the completion of a moment meant for the movies. it was simply, the perfection of heart.

Nelson Roque for Mayor! (don't hate on my ears and braces. Clariza represent.)

this week i am stuck on his memory. seemingly moved past regret and question. trapped in a memory unable to be relived.

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