Gestures. They are meaningless. Empty.
Gestures. So full of meaning, full of symbolism.
A touch of the lips, a wave past.
Shaped stones, rising out of the earth. Chiseled with history.
It is a simple gesture, it is all that I have left. It is a memory, everytime passed.
You are no longer here, your stone is chiseled marking your life. A History for others to read, a solitary place to remember.
If I can no longer reach out - to call, talk, hug, or kiss goodbye - I will continue a gesture. So meaningless, but it is all that is left.
So each time I pass, even though your stone is not there, I raise a finger to my lips and cross to yours, the best that I can.
It is all that I have left, to tell you I love you.
Bonne fête des pères, Papa
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