Fourteen fucking years Friday 23 of March


Fourteen years, Fourteen fucking years, it scares me, Fourteen tears, Fourteen years since I last saw him on a Thursday night, right after parachuting course, not a word, left, gone with the wind, I wish he could see me now, in my happiness, incomplete happiness, we are going to visit his grave in Five hours, I cried all the way home in the car, Fourteen years, I am crying like a baby in the fucking car, mostly because I am happy, I won, I made it, and I wish he could stand here beside me, say: I am proud of you man, very few people understand the battle, remember the struggle,  I am going to sleep, Five hours from now Kadish. It’s never too late to lose my stage fright: “Yitgaddal v’yitqaddas“, can you hear me Twenty meters from the grave? can you hear me? A Cohen cannot visit his fathers grave? Can he hear me? See me? Understand?  Is he coming back? Did you ever come back when I wase’nt home?  Do you know who I am? Who you are? Who you aren’t? Who you want to be? Do you know something? Does anyone know me?

4:22 in the fucking morning, in the fucking mourning, going to sleep, has anyone seen my father lately? If you see him, even in your dreams, tell him that I love him, every second, every heartbeat, listen to my heartbeat, listen  – you will understand.

Rambo: just go to the mall man, just go to the mall, say that you lost your father; they will call him on the speaker, just go to the mall that’s all…

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