My name is Maximilian. My mother died recently. But she'd confessed something to me on her death bed. I never knew until the very tail-end of her life. I'd always been under the impression my father died when I was an infant. But the truth is, they'd separated. My mother never told him she was expecting. Her dying wish was that I get to hug him one last time for her. He knows nothing of my existence. I've no idea how. Or if it's even feasible. But he is an author and will be administering a lecture this Winter. I want to sit in the front row. Only problem is we're on opposite sides of the globe. He's in Germany. And I reside on the East Coast of the U.S., working a dead-end job. I don't know that I could ever bring myself to tell him. But I'd at the very least hope to lay eyes on him. Maybe whatever nostalgia my mom was clinging onto in that moment stands a chance of being immortalized by a fleeting surge of courage you made tangible.

With Love,

Maximilian's Cryostatic "Bravery"