Hold your breath while reading this, please.
My mother Iris, who left two years a go to seek an endless summer across the ocean, never stopped loving him. He left her when I was very young, later returned and put our worlds up side down. Then he left again. Without a word, without a trace. But she didn't stop loving him. And he still loves her. Why aren't they still togheter? Well, Iris isn't a pleasent woman to spend your life with. She loves gin more than me, and maybe... just maybe more than him as well. And Frank isn't really mr stable. They were a great love story while they lasted, they were a horrid sci-fi flick when reality catched up with them.
Father figure Frank lives in LA, a place I refer to as the rabbit-hole of my teenage years. I visited him a couple of times, and it always ended in tears and acid drenched nights. He takes beatiful pictures for a living, but he refuses to photograph me. I don't know why.
There is a lot that I don't know about him. But I know this
1)He makes me feel safe
2)He cares, even though he doesn't know how to
3) He always smells like bourbon and cigarettes. He wears nothing but black.
4) No matter how much I reject him, he never stops trying.
5)He is the only one who truly knows me. And still loves me.
and now ; Exhale