It’s me being mad over all the times I haven’t been able to hug him in the past six years, for the days I wish to but can’t hear his voice and all the words of advice (and probably 90% yelling) he has for me. It’s not being able to participate in Dad-Daughter brunches or dinners, or not taking screenshots of FaceTime selfies or bad Dad joke texts.

I see you looking in the mirror and all you can see are the flaws he pointed out about your hair or your skin or your eyebrows. I see you struggling to see them as features rather than flaws. I see you trying to remember the last time he made you feel beautiful and I see you trying so hard to accept yourself.