Being at that factory today reminded me of you. The smell of oil and machinery. It's a smell of sweat and hard work. You used to come home smelling like that every day. It was bittersweet. The comfort of a father, then the realization that I don't have one.
Sometimes it feels like you've passed. I miss you, but you aren't coming back. I only miss the idea of you, though, because I never really had you.