I couldn’t find this post when I started it two days ago.
My identity has left, once I was the coffee shop king and smoked mindlessly. Writing without abandon and living as if tomorrow was truly going to end my feeble reign.
Now I answer to Papa, the old me is packed away in a cut up cardboard box, useless for the task at hand. What is needed now is limitless patience and knowing all answers no matter the question.
I look in the mirror before 4 AM, these eyes are bloodshot, baggy, drooping, as they did before children, as they do because of children.
Being a father, the old me was unable to step up to that task. That person is gone, but still whispers to me when I need it least. This father mask I’ve donned fits snuggly, and the next mask is in the making. I don’t know if I’ll see the real me, I haven’t seen that mask in a long time. I think I glimpsed it when changing to this mask. I’m not sure I want to retrieve it.