Sometimes…

you really have to do the hardest thing.

I haven’t spoken to my parents in two years.

I had to break away from them. From their misunderstandings and I hate to use the word, but their poison.

Sometimes I am so strong. I am so sure of myself.

But around them?

I am a weak willed six year old who will do whatever they say, begging for their affirmation, their affection, their love.

And sometimes I don’t think of them.

But today?

Oh how my heart hurts for my father.

In the winter time, usually when we did the Christmas lights together, (me always on the ladder), his hands would get so so cold. And I would take off his black leather glove, to see his red chapped hand and I would blow all the hot air that I could into those gloves and them slip them back onto his hands.

He would say, ‘you don’t have to do that’. He would say, “hm. Nice and warm.” 

But I wonder if he really knew how much love I was blowing into those gloves. How much I wanted to say to him that I loved him loved him loved him and that I hated how far apart we were.

I have always loved him.

love mom.

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