Traces. That’s it, all of it. Just traces, glimpses of emotion. No more intensity, no more vivid picture of neon colours that race through my mind and puncture true reality. Just traces and glimpses. No more over whelming moments of fear or freedom, no more instances of pure anger or the purity of happiness. These traces of the neon past of my emotions pass through the scars of today and are relived and forgotten. It’s only the fear of forgetting true colours that bring more than just a glimpse.

You brought those colours to me, all those years ago, before I even knew who I was. And now you've left, but you left the colours. Retreated and faded, but they stayed when you had to go. You fought, you scrambled at the cliffs dark edge, but gravity won over your tired fingertips, pulling you beyond where my reach. And I miss you, and I’m sorry, and I love you. And thank you. For giving me those colours, for showing me I really can live in colour, I really can do anything. Give me some time, give me a year, I can make the colours come back even if I can't make you come back.

Traces. That’s it, all of it. Just glimpses and traces of you. In my head, in my heart. Just walking down the road, or in my room. A trace of you pushes me right back to the edge of your cliff, trying to give you my strength so that you can stay. So that you can stay with me. But every time, the glimpse of you leavesves, the trace, it leaves me alone with waterfalls of pain that ripe me in pieces. All these years and I’m still your nine year daughter, I still just need a hug. I still just need my dad.