Ah, the torch. You haven't passed it along yet. You still grip it in your hot little hands-
Though you always did have large hands, so that's inaccurate.
The torch. It's not for me, doncha know. It's for someone I don't know. I never did.
She's the person you think existed years ago. I'm pretty sure that she wasn't even there then.
I'm pretty sure that you saw the veneer, and didn't see underneath.
I'm pretty sure that if you knew, you would've run screaming into the night.
I'm pretty sure that what you're experiencing now is the onset of age.
And a feeble attempt to recall the past.
The past that never really existed. Not the way you remember.
You're a father and husband now. So something must be wrong with the picture on your side.
Fuzzy focus, wrong F-stop.
Because if all was right in the world, I would've never heard from you again.

Is it the right time to tell you that I had forgotten how to spell your name?