I don't know why I pulled out my box of photos but I did. I pulled out the only picture of my Dad I have and drew him. He was on a train going from Stratford to Toronto. I don't think of him that often, but when I do, I kind of feel like he must be thinking of me. I wonder if he ever imagines what his life would have been like if he had stayed with my mom. I wonder if it's possible to hate and love someone at the same time.
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