Sandals on the Sidewalk

Are heard as I ran in front of you answering your questions. Those little nonsense questions you used to ask. Like "Hey buddy, where are we today?" That's when I used to call you by your first name. You were my best friend then. My world was everything because you were in it. This time in particular you were holding my hand as we crossed a bridge. I hated bridges. Always afraid they would break. You firmly held my hand as we went across. In the video I can't see your face, just your feet and long legs. You can hear the joy in my voice as I call after you. You pan the camera up and there I am waving at you. Little curls bouncing at the end of pigtails as they gently sweep across my sun kissed face. When I close my eyes tight I cannot remember those days. I can only remember the happy times captured on VHS. I wanted it to be like that all the time.

I don't wear sandals anymore, I wear heels. We don't hold hands anymore, but I wish you would hold mine. I don't answer your nonsense questions anymore. In fact I don't even talk to you. I don't call you by your first name anymore. In fact I don't even call you dad.