Sycophant by Nova

We were always at odds, my father and I. He’d take a swift left, I a shaky right. His feet were nailed to the ground, and my fingers clung to the clouds. Numbers, algorithms, elements whispered into his ears and swirled him into becoming a stoic man, whose every thought was stagnant. He could never find the right words, only the right possibilities. He tried to teach me many things, but I never listened. Questions that had no answers didn’t appeal to him. He never liked what he couldn’t understand; he never liked me. One day, I felt wronged by a teacher at high school; so, I confided in him. Continue reading