After I left the voice message,

it took me a while to get there,

about an hour and a half,

and I was anxious the whole drive.

I had not been there in years—

hadn’t even called back.

I just, left…

without saying goodbye.

It’s one of the things I regret the most.

And when I grew older,

had kids of my own—

I’ve come to notice…

the way I feel right now,

was the way you were feeling,

that day I left.

And now I’m finding my way down the driveway.

Was it always this long?

On the voicemail,

I had told you that I’d be coming by,

and for you to leave a white paper on the front door,

so that I’d know,

If you wanted to see me or not.

I wouldn’t have blamed you for not wanting to,

I wouldn’t have.

So why…

why are there thousands of pieces of paper scattered across the driveway?

Why does the house look like it’s been repainted white?

And you’re standing on the porch already?

I get out of my truck,

and now we’re walking towards each other.

I have a feeling I know what your answer is,

and you probably know mine.

“This enough paper?”

“Hah, yeah it’s…more than enough.”

“Welcome back.”

“…I’ve missed you, dad.”