I can't really describe the feeling.
When you long for something you sort of get used to waiting.
and waiting . . .
and waiting.
For years I used to blame myself.
I used to question everything I did just to make sure I was "good enough".
I used to try so hard to please you because I couldn't figure out why you were always so mean to me.
What did I do when I was three?
What did I do to deserve those vile words being thrown at me?
What did I do to deserve your hand print on my cheek?
What did I do . . .
I think it's funny how you used to say
"Do you know what I would do if a boy put his hands on you? Do you know what I'd do to them, you're my daughter."
Yet you were the first man to lay a hand on me and I was three .....
