>>41461296It started when my father abandoned us when I was 5. Mother fell to the drink. We lived in rural America, and we were surrounded by hills, hills as far as you can imagine. I used to think I could find my father if I crossed enough of those hills, if I journeyed far enough, maybe I'd reach him and he'd embrace me like he used to. That never happened. Instead I wandered into the wrong town and never saw my mother again. I've worked in factories since. Metalwork. With every piece that crosses my hands, I take a moment to feel the warmth of my hands dissipate into the cold steel. I think of it as my parents love. My parents lives. Transient, like mine.
