The man in the portrait

I only have ever seen my grandfather in this one portrait picture on my grandmothers wall, and on my mom's nightstand when I grew up. In this picture you see a man in his thirties. He has a tall face, framed with dark wavy hair. He has a half smile on his face, open and and reserved at the same time. There is a light in his eyes that still shines, a reflection of his star, way above in the sky. I would have loved to grow up with him at my side. I would have put my -six year old self's- hand in his, and shown him my world. I know, deep down inside, that he would have been the only one to really understand what I was seeing in my world from that age onward. His eyes tell me that. And sometimes when I think of the picture, I see him wink at me through the veil between worlds, as if to say: "I am here, don't you worry now." And I grab his outstretched hand.