conversation with my father

I sat with my father, the conversation, a hesitant and tentative thing. I wanted to talk to him about his past, about the things he had never spoken of. But he was reluctant, the silence between us, a heavy and oppressive thing. I think of the way he avoids talking about the important things, the way he sticks to trivialities. The conversation, a dance, the steps, a delicate and intricate thing. I don't know what he is hiding, what he is afraid of. But I think of the way the conversation is a reflection of our relationship, the way it is a mix of love and fear, of trust and distrust. The silence between us, a reminder of the things we don't say, the things we don't talk about. And yet, despite the difficulties, I feel a sense of connection, a sense of belonging. The conversation, a fragile and tentative thing, the meaning and significance, shifting and changing.