If you knew the immensity of my feelings, then perhaps there wouldn't be a need for me to write this for you. It's almost as though the tears that streak my face escape your notice, or the frown that I permanently wear simply does not indicate to you that I am heartbroken.
All my life, I asked one thing of you. One thing, dear father. That you may love me like I love you, and never leave me when I need you most.
Unfortunately for me, I noticed too late that you never took up your role as a dad. Indeed, you hid behind your work, and your religion. You pushed me to believe what you believed to be right, and had me follow rules that applied to everybody but you.
I think of you, sitting at the kitchen table, with your chin resting on your fist. You would stare out the window with your empty blue eyes, and I could only think that if there were some way to help you, I would.
But you see, when a little girl grows up without a father, something happens to her perception of life, and everything within it. I did not realize there was anything in you that needed help. I thought I was the one who was damaged, the one who was not quite right.
So as I leave this house, and see you standing in the doorway, with your hands buried in you pockets, I can't help but wish there was a rewind button. I want you to know that I'm not leaving because I don't love you- because I do- but because this emptiness is eating me up just as much as it is eating you. And I cannot take it any longer.
I am sorry, dad.
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