Today, my father turned 50

And I am here, 5 hours and thousands of miles away, on a different continent, living a different life, and wanting everything and nothing all at once. He sounded sick on Skype, sounded weary of traveling, ready to eat dinner with the family he loves--he sounded like he missed his daughter.

She misses him too. She misses the way her family sounds on Sunday mornings-soft, like Church bells stifled by bed covers. She misses the way her mom speaks love in curfews, and the way her brother wants in whispers. She misses the way her father carries his cell phone like a burglar carries his gun-neccessary, and scared. My father's daughter, she wants home like the scent of flowers during winter, something so distant, it smells vaguely of fairy tales and storytimes. My father's daughter is waging a war with Yale's student--the jury is out, the winner is yet announced.

I'll get back to you with the score.