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 .....