RAnts ideas, nothing concrete

He's like the magical glue that holds a piece of cardboard and makes it float simultaneously. My dad. Restrained always, always restrained, never saying what he thinks, making the outdated joke at the dinner table, followed by some forced laughs; of mine naturally, after all i am the only awkward one around here. I cant stand him, never talks, always at his computer, randomly yelling some questions about the TV show that's on. Yet i never tell him to shut up, perhaps out of fear, but more out of love, because quiet simply i love him. Now the fact i can't express it properly is another matter, but it does exist. Out of that love come my forced laughs, my heightened state of awareness when he talks and of course my flattering willingness to put what he wants to watch. He doesn't seem to receive it though. My grand gestures, they go unnoticed. I am convinced every time i pick up his plate he is thankful, but never grateful; maybe back in his day 17 year olds always picked up their parents plates. I sincerely doubt he ever did; he always knew how to live large. By nature that does not mean picking up plates. Of course he has lived largely, not in action, but definitely in mind. Like when he used to open my door as a child. Well it wasn't really opening, more like kicking down, or bursting. Door opens. Hits the wall. Leaves an ever-growing bump on the wall. words issued 'hey boy... how are you' by a face with a deadly gaze. I'm fine. a moment of awkward silence. ohh and you? This is my grand attempt of creating a meaningful relation with my dad, a grunt of a response/. Of course we both grunt in reality. always quick to talk, never wasting energy with meaningless words. This is my principal proof of our deep similarities. Our silence are always loud with our gazes fixed on some magical point in the room. every once in a while when we deem worthy we slip out a casual word, nothing much never giving it all away; then the vultures at the dinner table devour the words, chew them, spit them back out. We keep the whole harmonious not with our notes, rather with our omitted notes. Like a unified symphony playing the notes that have to be played, not a gang of 50 violinists screeching powerfully against their strings. No. We converse with silence, our thoughts travel through space not by waves, rather a line, straight line to where it needs to be. Then again all the musicians have to play, and we, the silent pipers of the orchestra play, the rest hushes up. It comes out joyful at first, seemingly playful. But then the weight of our history is too much, and the air fills up with a slow tricker of a note, it doesn't really exist, its just a buzz in your ears. But then it gets stronger, just a bit.The trickle is followed by another trickle, and another one, and suddenly they hit you everyone of them; and they stun. Instantly all the joys and pains of this human fall upon you , and because of it for a fleeting second that never lasts enough you are in balance. You're mind heart and soul are absolutely harmonious, chanting in a language that we understand, but doesn't have an alphabet. Afterwards the mind starts to slip the heart starts to moan and the soul flees, you no longer hear the sound of the magician, you hear sordid silence.