I’m done rebuilding the burnt bridge.
I slaved away for years, writing instructions on how we could achieve that goal together.
I pleaded with my mother to get ahold of you because I missed you.
Because of that, the bridge has been reconstructed twice already.
Guess who did all that work?
Me. Not you.
You crossed it both times, but ran back across.
Why did you run back across?
Because you’re scared.
Because you’re a coward.
Because you don’t want to face your mistakes.
You watched as it burned and fell back into the ravine.
And just now you’re trying to do your part in building it back up?
That bridge is in shambles and the daughter you once knew is long gone.
You left when I was three.
I’m sixteen now.
You waited thirteen fucking years to do something like this for me?
I’m not the excitable little girl who dreamed of an extravagant party.
I’m not a teenager looking for the best sweet sixteen ever, either.
What you don’t know will kill you
Do you wanna know why?
Even if you don’t, I’ll tell you
It’s because you won’t want to believe the severity of reality until it’s too late
You think I have breakdowns for attention because I want to go home
You say I’m no longer allowed to cry in the bathroom when I’m overwhelmed
You realize that saying that is like telling someone with epilepsy to stop have a seizure, right?
It’s not exactly the easiest thing in the world
So don’t tell me to stop crying
Do not tell me to stop having breakdowns
Because you saying that is making me think that you don’t care about the emotions I am displaying
You say you’re proud of me?
What could you possibly be proud of me for?
Growing up without you?
Accomplishing things that wouldn’t be possible without you?
Making it through without a father?
That’s something to be proud of.
But you don’t realize how hard that was for me
The most saddening part of this entire situation
Is the debate going on between my mind and heart
The questions they argue over are scary to think about
Do I still want you in my life?
Do I consider you my role model anymore?
Can I even tell you I love you and mean it?
The answers to those questions are even scarier
I don’t know if I still want you in my life
I cannot consider you a role model
And I don’t think I can ever fully mean it when I say I love you
So you can keep your ignorance and disbelief to yourself
You can keep trying as hard as you want
But I’m not coming back
No matter what
I’m gone, and I’ve been gone for a long time
And as much as I hate to say it
There’s no getting back what we once had