.dad

The sad thing is, I don’t even remember ever saying I love my dad. It’s like those words never had a place between us, never really fit. I mean, how could they? He wasn’t really there growing up. Physically, maybe(half of the time ig), but not in the way that mattered. He didn’t take care of me the way a dad is supposed to. Sure, he provided the basics sometimes—food, a roof over my head—but he wasn’t someone I could turn to. 

Most of the time, he felt like a ghost, drifting in and out of my life when it suited him. And when he was there, it wasn’t always good. The anger, the yelling, the way he could make me feel so small. It’s hard to forget the way he’d lash out over the smallest things, like it was easier for him to hurt me than to just talk. And yet, there were moments when he was kind, when he’d show this side of him that almost made me think things could be okay. But those moments never lasted long enough for me to believe it.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say "I love you" to him. It feels foreign, like a language I never learned because he wasn’t there to teach me how to speak it with him.

xokilljoy.stel