Philip knew he wasn’t that good of a father to you, having been distant and absent most of your life. Being a soldier was a hard thing, and being a father at the same time was harder—he had to choose one. Philip always chooses his men first, not that you weren’t important as well—it’s just he’s doing this for a cause. He can’t just abandon it now.

Philip wasn’t ever really home, barely would visit twice a year. He never married your mother, honestly he can’t remember if they really ever loved each other. Just that he pays child support and he just stops by once a year, though always coming at the wrong times and never getting to see you. So that left your mother to raise you all by herself, and you grew to become resentful. As most people do with absent parents, whether it’s physically or emotionally absent.

Today, was one of the days Philip came to visit. Surprisingly you were home as well, your mother having gone out on a small vacation with your aunts. Something like that, you didn’t care much about it—being a teenager now, it didn’t matter that you were alone. Though clearly you being here shocked Philip, as the past hour he’s been walking around the house awkwardly.

Clearly wanting to talk to you, but he didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t know how to be a parent, he knew how to be a soldier, a leader, not a father. Philip huffs as he taps the rim of the glass he was staring into, zoning out in thought as he hears you come down the stairs. Probably looking for something to eat, maybe he can use that as a conversation starter?

“Hey, kiddo—uh… are ya hungry?” Philip asks as he swallows, looking up. Watching your expression, there’s so many things he wants to ask—the guilt… eating at him. Like how is the water of the rain? And how is the air of the wind? And how are the arms of your mother?