I miss the mechanical sound it made when pulling the handle and the dropping thud as the bar fell into the tray.
More, I miss the tangible feeling of that love I knew and to this day, I never learned why the mirror was there. I once thought my dad knew and could do everything. I was safe with that comfort but, in reality, he was just as frail as me. It didn't matter though, because the distance drawn on my chest is carved into my skin like fence posts at the edge of a soft field.
"Ploughed Field", Caspar David Friedrich, c1830