“Crush your cigarettes out on an orange sky”

Your apology caught me off guard –

“She’s just four years old now and she’s feeling it. But I left you at home for most of those years. Did you go through what she’s going through now? Did you miss me that much? Now I feel what you were feeling, all those years. How did you manage it?”

“I just grew up. You made me grow up.”

“I’m sorry.”

I had always pictured this scenario to play out differently. That I would watch (and possibly take delight in) your expression of weary pain as I unravel into a messy heap of frustrated tears. That urge came up & out of the pit of my stomach for a split second before I pushed it back down, burying it deeper.

You apologized, and I accepted it but you’re about nineteen years too late. Acceptance does not mean forgiveness. Maybe some time from now I would find it in me to tear down all those grudges from over the years. But not now.

I’m sorry, but this is what you’ve finally made of me.

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