Festering

Hello,
 
Do you remember when you would come to visit for a week occasionally? You would pull me out of the harsh reality of your decisions with beautiful gifts and trips to New York City, Philadelphia, and Moscow. While you were here, you brought great expectations and dreams. We would talk about attending Ivy League Schools and living in New York. We toured Columbia University like it was a real possibility. We took pictures in front of the stone lions that stood for so much. I dreamed of attending Julliard and becoming a musician. Then the dream burst, and you would drop me back in the reality you left me in years ago. I laid on my bed crying and begging you not to leave, but you left anyway. I decided then that I would not cry anymore; It didn’t accomplish anything.
 
As I grew older, accustomed to your absence and silence, I figured out life according to my own design and expectations. That’s when you decide to try your hand at fatherly guidance. You ask about my life and send encouraging feedback. Where was this 10 years ago when I needed it most? It’s a little late… You now get snippets of certain parts of my life. I tell you about work and school, but you don’t know who I’ve loved and the fun I’ve had. You will never know of the great friends I made hanging out at their apartment till 6 am singing along to pop songs, having snowball fights, or late-night walks across campus to taco bell. You will never understand, “Don’t worry, it’s just the turkey.”
 
Those memories of you are wounds that never fully heal. You pick and agitate it with every email and zoom call. It’s not as deep or as festering as I’ve come to terms with my reality and who I am, but there’s always that part that wonders what could have been.
 
I forgive you.
 
take care,
 
Kyra