There is a box left under the tree.
Not just any box, or any tree.
This is a special gift left for a man.
Not just any man, this gift is for my dad.
I made it with my own two hands.
My fingerprints are from last year.
He did not visit this year, and seldom calls.
Yet, I still long for his love.
The tree is gone, although the box remains.
Unopened and in the order, as I hope it will be opened someday.
My fingerprints may be different as I grow each day.
Yet, I am still the child that misses my dad.
Heartbreaking đź’”