I’m sorry I didn’t leave a good memory in your short life.
Tonight, in the noise of the city streets, I keep reminding myself of how cowardly I used to be.
While listening to people passing by and car horns, I kept walking, knowing that would i get a second chance?
I… never be a good father.
On your eighth birthday, you asked me to buy you a brown teddy bear.
And I think it doesn’t matter, so I refused.
I always push you to live in an uncomfortable atmosphere.
You said you wanted me to be there when you graduated from elementary school, middle school, and high school.
And I never showed up.
I am not the right person to be called a father. The days we experienced were hardly ever talk to each other, only when buying food or asking where were you when coming home late at night.
I can’t believe that 17 years of your life have caused you so much pain because of me.
As the rain continues to wet the garden of this neglected house, I keep imagining your little hands persuading me to go for a walk.
The wind continues to blow, and I still hope you will forgive me.
Your pain is the responsibility that I’ve always been running away from.
Now, you will live in peace up there.
Compared to me, your pain will be over instantly.
I will live forever haunted by that.
