I've always thought that " you can't miss what you never had " was true.
I was wrong.
And here I am: a sack of meat with a brain and bones and muscles and senses that do remind me what could have been mine too. Don't get me wrong, I feel no jealousy or envy towards those who have a complete pack of family members, 'cause yeah, problems are like whores and they go with everyone and everything. I am not the only one to suffer, and there are people who suffered much more than me, yes, but still, bad things find their special way to hurt anyone in their own pretty different way, each time. Nevertheless, I am jealous with people who can say "daddy" out loud and someone answers.
I call "daddy" and nobody answers.
Well, fuck you then. Fuck you, fuck your addiction and fuck your whatever lead you to die. We could have been beautiful. Or ruined because of you. Frankly, I don't care. I grew up just fine. The tough girl you always wished me to be, even if you aren't here to see me now, that is, as far as I know. But I do find you in my ghost memories, through smells, through touches and feelings that are long gone, way too immature to be images to be visualized whenever I want to remember you on my own. And it hurts. It hurts like the realization of a fresh injury, feeling like something so familiar, has been ripped away, with no chance to get it back. Back then I didn't even realize what has been taken away from me. From us.
I thought about coming to the graveyard from time to time, step by to say hi, but you're not there anyway. Sometimes I want to open the grave, just to see how much the time has consumed your cold corpse, and wonder if even your soul would have looked like that when you were alive. Maybe I'd find just a bunch of bones, or dust, or a zombie-movie-like rotten body, maybe full of worms or other parasites. I don't know. But even if your body would be as perfect as it was, a portrait of a sleeping angel, you won't answer our question anyway. Did you really HAVE to do that? I guess we will be left without an answer forever.
But, there is a funny thing in all this. I've been told you were admirable, when you were 'yourself'; my paragon of love, compassion and life lessons. I tried to be you as much as I could, as far as law allowed me to be. I've been told I'm the last remnant of the good things in you, in this world. I was fine with it, thinking that if I was like you, then it would feel like you're still with me, somehow. In the blocks of graves, your face is still looking down on anybody who thought you wouldn't make it out your addiction. Well, you didn't, but nobody can ever say you didn't try to. Nobody can ever say you didn't try to love us more than the shit in your blood. And you look down on anyone who thought that you wouldn't make it to have a family and somebody to love and who loved you back. You look down on everybody from your third floor grave in that giant wall of graves and dead people.
What's funny, though, is that I have it. I always had what I wanted. A father to look up to. And now I can do it whenever I want, right? You get it? A father to look up to, because your grave is too far up and I have to look up to see you. Ha. Haha. Hahaha.
Funny, very funny.
Say, after this, would you believe me if I say I am 22? Yeah, childish, eh?
See you at the bitter end,with love, your brat.
Author Notes: I don't know what to say about this. Is this a complaint, a vent out or simply something I needed to get out from my head? Idk... I just felt like I had to write it.