Every night. Every tear. Replaying the image in my head. Not the one in which you carried me on your shoulders as you told me you loved me. Not the one in which you and mama were crying as I performed my solo routine that I had worked on for hours, day and night. But instead I saw the image of a door. Our front door, the one with swirls coming together in the middle. The one you slammed behind you before you left. The one that told us you would never be coming back. The one that I kept in my mind and soul, which left an impact from the day I turned 6 to the day I finally forgot I ever even had a father. The day in which you left me behind, blowing out my candles on my birthday, with tears in my eyes wishing for your return. But only leaving me to doubt whether wishes make my dreams come true, or only help me get through the times in which I wished for something so worthless.