• To The Man That Left

    by  • February 2, 2017 • * Safe for Work *, Family Stuff • 0 Comments

    Papa, it’s been two years. Mommy and I moved so you wouldn’t be able to track us down. She said that it’s just going to be me and her from now on. The place we moved to is so much different from back home. The kids here seem like they’re speaking another language. Our apartment is so tiny, and the neighborhood is dark. But I hope Mommy will get me the Barbie I’ve been wanting for Christmas.

    Papa, it’s been seven years. I had my first day of middle school today. The kids are so cruel, and the hallways always smell like the body odor from boys. The girls like to talk to each other and blame one another for telling lies.

    Papa, it’s been nine years. I can’t take it anymore. The world is just full of hate and despair. There’s no reason for me to live anymore. I’ve tried and tried and tried. But the world just keeps knocking me down. I haven’t had a breath of air in years. I keep dreaming that you’re going to come back and make everything okay again. And then I wake up, and my mind gets swept over with reality. I’ve tried ending my life multiple times, yet I get interrupted every single time.

    Papa, it’s been eleven years. I’m looking at colleges now. And even though I have a new man in my life, I still wonder how these conversations would have gone with you, if you had stayed. He’s great – he treats Mom well, better than you would have. Every time I look in the mirror, I see you. Everyone says I look more like you than I do with Mom. Many people have also told me that I have beauty. If only they knew that the man that gave me part of my skin is the same man that left me broken.

    Papa, it’s been seventeen years. I graduated from John Hopkins University yesterday. And I already have quite a few job offers as a nurse. But I’m turning them all down. I’ve decided to offer my services to a non-profit organization that deals with those that can’t afford going to a hospital. I want to make an impact on the world that’s much different than yours.

    Papa, it’s been twenty-two years. I’m in my dressing room, admiring my sparkling white gown. I’ve met a man who loves me for me, and cares about my well-being. Something you seemed to take for granted. He’s walking me down the aisle, the man who raised me when you wouldn’t. But what if you were in one of the aisles, looking at me walking down the cathedral? Wouldn’t that be something? And maybe if I imagine hard enough, it’ll come true.

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