one day you’re 25, sitting by the tv light in your own apartment when it hits you, you’ve pulled through the adversity and made a way of life for yourself. you ask yourself why you wasted so much time begging for affection and time when you made it out okay without those things.
you were 16 weeping in your room because he couldn’t make it to your dance recital. again.
it came and went and you still made it to 25, sitting by the light of your tv, in your own apartment when it hits you, you’re okay.
you forget about how you called him by name until you were 6, you forget about every shortcoming, missed occasion, birthday, graduations and the anticipated missed wedding you swore you’d never have,
how he hung up on you when he heard you sobbing for your father figure.
how he was supposed to protect the tiny, fragile heart at hand.
you almost forget about all of those things, but hold on to just enough to hold him accountable and to keep your heart safe.
you’re 25, you sit with a mystery illness that impacts both brain and body but you live alone and do for yourself anyway. you think about how this was something done to you. condemned to a life of therapy and medication.
the trial and error of relationships always echoing the same sad ending, but you pull through because you always have, this feels done to you as well.