It’s been years. I wonder if you even remember… I wonder if you ever think about it. I wonder if you think about it as often as I do.
Do you feel guilty? Do you write it off as “experimenting” or as “kids being kids”, just like our family did? Did you even get in trouble? Did your parents even talk to you about it? It seemed/seems like the only adult who was concerned about it was my mother, and I can’t bring talk to her about it. I wish she was alive.
When you see me, do you think about it? Would you ever bring it up to me? How would you react if I brought it up?
Why the hell did you do all that?
What am I forgetting? Do you remember parts that I don’t? Did you repress all these memories like I did?
Do you care about me? Do you love me? Do you hate me? Have you always fucking hated me?
Do you even realize how badly this affected me? Do you realize that it’s hard to face you? That it’s hard to talk about you?
Hell, it’s hard to AVOID talking about you and admiring you and looking up to you and LOVING you when our entire family puts you on a fucking pedestal.
Would I ever be able to talk to anyone in our family about this? Will anyone listen? Will anyone care?
Would you listen?
I’m so fucking sick of all of this. I’m tired.