The Missing Piece
I was always afraid to be myself, because I knew that’s not who you wanted me to be. I’d do anything to make you happy because perhaps I hoped that meant you would love me. I wanted the kindness that you gave away so freely to strangers, but seemed too much of an effort to give to me.
You had other gifts for me instead. Backhanded compliments. Comparisons in which I never measured up. Blame, though for what I still have no clue. Temper tantrums, guilt trips, manipulation. Betrayal.
I used to be terrified of you. I used to wonder what I did wrong. I used to fucking care.
There’s a piece missing from your puzzle. I don't know if it was ever there to begin with. And in that space there is your resentment, your “never good enough”, your take and never give.
Thankfully, I’m not like you. I have that piece of the puzzle. It fits perfectly, in the shape of two little people who hold my heart and soul in their hands. Who have so much love in their little bodies that it takes my breath away.
I confess that I am missing a different piece, though. There’s a black hole where my forgiveness should be. Infinite, unyielding, angry. One day, I hope it terrifies you. One day, I hope it makes you wonder what you did wrong. One day, I hope it makes you fucking care.
And on that day, I’ll fill the hole with cement and never look back.
This post was inspired by the weekly writing prompt from The Figment writing community. Click here to find out more and to join us. A new prompt is posted each Thursday.