Duh.

Did you know what you were doing? Were you insane? Did you ever stop to think?
You couldn't stop, was that it? You couldn't. Like I couldn't, later on.

You could have explained. I have so many questions. I'll never ask them, of course. It'd be too awkward. And I don't want to hear the answers. I don't want explanations. Explanations never change(d) anything.
And yet I have the questions. All the questions.

I think I understand you, in way. I just don't know how everything that happened is possible. How it could happen. Surely there must be a god somewhere who stops the evil things from happening? I don't understand what happened. I can't.
You are different. The shrink gave me an idea. What B said gave me an idea. (I think he would've had some kind of an explanation but I never asked him.) I think I just need to accept. I can't change it. Neither can you. That's why I'm not asking. Nothing can change in the past. And I already have my means of dealing with those things.

I don't know how I feel about you. I can't hate you. I can't, not anymore. And I can't really forgive you because I can't forget. I can stop thinking, of course. That's how I can live with you, near you.

Funny. I was always the kid you didn't want. I used to think that way. I was the wrong sex, for instance. And I was the second best. The youngest one. Too young to understand, I think. That's why you should have explained. And that's why you should have been around.

But I'm not bitter about that. The neglect is okay. There are worse things than that (but if you hadn't done them I probably would be bitter about the neglect).

I still don't know how I feel. I never did. I was so goddamn afraid of you for years. When P moved out I was still too scared to talk to you. My own father, for god's sake. But 'father' is a relative term. Biological, yes, emotional, no.
But of course I had to get used to you. I wanted to. And I'm quite good at getting used to. That's why I never rebel. P did and I admire her for that. But I couldn't, I was too adaptive. Too afraid.
And I think that's why you never liked me. Because of the fear. You're never afraid, you seem to think. You get angry. Denial. Worse than what I do, IMO. So you shouldn't judge me. Perhaps you're finally learning not to do that. There's a difference now. You've grown older. Sometimes I still think you're younger than me. Emotionally.

I don't know. There's nothing to say, really. Not in the end. You're the person you want to be. I think. You never found that out, did you?

Index.