Father’s pajamas

My father reads the newspaper in his striped pajamas and grey slippers. I like his pajamas because stripes are not boring. Earlier today he bought our favorite blackberry jam. I eat the jam on a piece of toast with butter, a glass of Nescafe to my right. I voraciously devour my food, savoring the sweetness of the blackberries and the warmness of the toast. Outside, the sun still glows and the autumn wind blows. Life is still in motion, and there is still time to make things happen.
My father continues to read. His eyes get tired and sleep takes over him. I don’t tell him to wake up because in a few minutes he will get back to reading. I watch him and I wonder if he too is content with life.
I finish eating and leave the window open. I wonder what’s behind the trees and the mountains and the houses and the buildings. I wonder where the roads end, if they ever do.
Daddy opens his eyes and reads again. We drink tea together and I smile because the sight of my father makes me happy. I wish to tell him what makes me content. I wish to tell him about Smoothie Thursdays; my friends and I have smoothies every Thursday afternoon to reward ourselves for the hard work we do in the week. I wish to tell him about our daily routines, our trips to the gym and how little time we have to get things done.
Tomorrow. I can tell him about it all tomorrow when he sits on the couch in his favorite striped pajamas.

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