Six drafts, none sent

I am on the plane. The Joburg bag sits at my feet. I keep touching my pocket where the old photo is. The fold is so soft now. Like cloth.

I have six drafts to my dad on my phone. None of them sent. The longest ends with "I'm scared." The shortest is just his name and three dots. I do not know which one is more true.

I told myself I was done running. I said it in my head at the gate. But my hands are shaking. So maybe I am not done. Maybe I am just good at packing a bag and calling it brave.

Gonçalo said bon voyage. I did not reply. That one I can write. Dad I cannot. Why is that.

I am scared he will open the door and look right through me. I am scared he will not.

It is the same fear. That is the part I did not want to say.