To put it simply: today was heavy and I didnāt have my dad.
Before the incident, when the world pressed too close and the sky fell in on my chest, I would cry out for my mother. I was never a daddyās girl, not with the man he was. Then after the incident, I let my mother go too, for the woman she revealed herself to be. The rest of my family do not see me and perhaps they never will. So I found a voice not in blood, but in a man I would come to call Dad.
I loathed you at first. Not for who you were, but for what I thought you were. Then words began to pass between us like quiet prayers, and suddenly, the hours no longer felt like burdens but lifelines. I thought I might love you- the kind of love that novels write of. But it wasnāt that. It was something deeper, stranger, truer. I do love you. Not with lips and longing, but with roots. I realized it in a bridal shop, surrounded by satin and make-believe, where most girls dream of their groom. Instead I dreamed of the one whoād take my hand and walk me to him. And it was you. The role simply didnāt fit anyone but you.
When the rumor spread and silence grew between us, it felt like someone had pressed their hand into my chest, gripped my heart tightly, and removed it at a torturously slow pace. A phantom ache- a hollow noise in my chest that wouldnāt stop. Days turned to tears and sleep never stayed. Burnout came in like a wave, and all I wanted to do was to sit beside you because somehow, you stopped being the one who pushed all my buttons and became the only calm I knew.
For the first time in what seems like a millennium, today was heavy. And as I curled into myself, sobbing into the dark, I wasnāt calling for my mother- I was calling for you.
But in vain and silence my cries fell.
