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A train station somewhere in France in the 1950's - an older guy, maybe 70, long gray messy hair, ill shaved, dirty, worn out clothes - bent forward, but with benevolent tired eyes - dad - charcoal and ink hand drawing - memories of a lost path - thoughtful and nostalgic - monochrome, no text, fuzzy blurred past
Dad said he was moving out.
He packed a few things and went to the station.
He promised he’d call when he got there.
He had never said where “there” was.
Sometimes leaving is easy.
But finding somewhere to arrive is complicated.
Probably he kept going.
But we never saw him again.
And... I still miss him.
