Papa.

when my Papa was here, my life was like the most perfect summer breeze.
like the first time you see a firefly.
like a big glass of sweet tea.
like a front porch swing early in the morning.
like vanilla ice cream.
like your first rainbow.
it was magic.

now that he’s gone, my days feel like stubbing your toe with every step.
like a sunburn on the first day of vacation.
like hitting your funny bone on the counter as you walk by.
like touching the rack of a 450-degree oven.
like a wasp sting.Like burning your tongue on a sip of hot chocolate.
the magic is gone, and it all hurts.

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