Nighttime is the worst part of my day. It’s when everything really sets in, and I have the chance to think about my life: where it’s been, where I am now, and where it’s going. Tonight I found a bench in a park around town and I just stare at the stars. I think about my Dad. I don’t understand why he had to be taken away from this world. He was so patient and kind to every single person he met. That kindness got him into trouble, though. He felt the need to give to everyone. The problem was that he couldn’t afford to, and we barely made it by. My mom left us when I was only a few years old; I don’t remember her at all. Without her paychecks to keep us going, we ended up on the streets. My father always fed me well, and kept me out of trouble. I grew up knowing how to take care of myself. A few months ago, my dad collapsed. He had a severe brain aneurysm, which resulted in an instant death. There was no way to see it coming, which was the worst part of it all.

The thoughts slowly melt into dreams as sleep finally overcomes me. Before long, the warm sun hits my face as a gentle reminder to get the day started. I rolled around for an hour or so before finally getting up. It was a beautiful autumn day. The sun shined down on the changing leaves and a cool breeze broke up the heat. At around noon my stomach started growling and I knew it was time to find something to eat. The smells from the local soup kitchen made me want to gag and I knew if I had one more bite of their Wednesday surprise I would probably throw up. I walked around town trying to figure out what to do when I saw Je t'aime, a high-class French restaurant on the wealthy side of town. I had about three dollars on me so eating there was obviously not an option. It was like an answer to my prayer when I spotted the dumpster on the side of the building. Inside I found a to-go box that must have been left behind and wandered over to a window to check out the inside of the restaurant. There was a pretty woman probably about 40 inside with blond hair and green eyes sitting next to a man who I assumed was her husband. He was wearing a suit and looked like someone important. Sitting with them was a young girl no older then five years old. The woman looked over at me and her jaw dropped, and her hand clasped her heart. A spark of recognition grew within me, and it was clearly reciprocated. That spark within her eye slowly faded, and it was replaced with a look of shame. Her eyes slowly lowered back to the table. Something inside of me that always held that small piece of hope slowly deflated.

I made my way back to the park to stare at the clouds and a whole new batch of pain settled in. Being abandoned once by my mother was enough, and a second time was almost too much to bear. Sometimes I wonder how I hold everything together, and how I don’t fall apart. Then I remember that I need to be strong. My dad would want me to be strong. So I keep going, for him.