Oliver

Your absence has come to lay down its great wings.
And you are that child of whom I am not the father, yet who I miss.

This little boy who grew into an adult, who was not mine, but who had managed to bind my soul as a jester, a rebel, a free spirit.
Children are the fruit of women, not of men. For a child, the father is above all the one who is present.

He found me by his side, and I recognized him, and he recognized me.
And he disappeared without warning in an accident.
I feel myself growing old, and his absence weighs on me like a distress………..

I am helpless, like a father who has just lost a child.
And I am sorrowful because of it. And yours comes to weigh upon a new distress: that of having lost the son I wanted, whom I had, and who was not of me…