Blame

For the majority of my life I've given this to you, and you've had this for me. It's become the basis on which we function, the reason we were never and probably will never be close.

My entire lifetime, no one ever said I looked like anyone but you. We have the same face, the same smile, the same odd hair color (a mix of an orangey brown) the same colorless skin. But honestly, same as we are, there is so little I really know about you, who you were, who you wanted to be. I've had to fantasize what you would have done had you been in my shoes over and over again. I know I'm different from you, but maybe that's my own my cynicisim. I think we've thought the worst of eachother so long that it's become second nature now. A safety net built up of all the broken strings of our own pride; time and time again. And thinking back, I know you fear me just as much as I feared you once. But the bruises healed and so did the cuts; the scars fading with age. I'm too old to purge now. Do you ever feel guilty, maybe? I wonder now if that's the reason there aren't any pictures, there aren't any memories of us doing anything together, you never met my new families. Were you running away or spiting me just like I've spited you?

It was maybe close to twenty years ago now, but I remember when you were different. We were the same, weren't we? One of the handful of times I recall with you, you taught me how to draw the sky... how ironic is it that someone I've come to characterize with fear and holding back would know how to express something so limitless? And when I really think it over, you are the reason for my vivid imagination; whenever they would ask, I had to imagine things we did and things we said just to paint a picture; protecting you because I knew in turn it was easier that way for me. I was just safer that way. But I'm old enough to know how ugly truth really is.

I'm always going to be different. Whether this be for better or worse, it's what you left on me, and what I've taken up and continued on; our own work.

I'm leaving in about a month. Something you told me I'd never do, I'm doing it, and I'm never going to know how it really makes you feel. Once again, I'll see you wave with a big smile, the one we both know isn't real and not entirely understand what you're thinking because you aren't going to let me in on that. I'm going to walk away because it is all you left me with knowing how to do. But is it me leaving you, or you at last feeling you can leave me?

All the times you left me alone, all the times you forgot about me, all this time you spent strengthening the wall we've built up; damnnit I was just a little girl! How did you expect me to react?! And it is always about you; you spent so much time focusing on yourself that it's is borderline crazy. Perhaps you meant to teach me independance; did you have any idea it would turn out like this?

"You knocked the glass over, Cathy, I won't clean it up for you."

I won't do it for you this time. You choose your own unhappiness. Don't be upset if I never entirely return. But please, for the love of God and for me, make that decision to let me go. Let me go, end this battling so that I can move on and build up whatever it is I'm lacking (we both know you lacked it, too) and for once stop all this fake smiled waves. It's never going to be entirely okay because you don't want it to be. Let that be the end of it, like you used to tell me.

Let this be the end.