I’m my own bad parent. I guess I didn’t have enough bad influences in my life, so I became one.
No one throws stones at me but myself. I tell myself that I avoided looking at my reflection because I wanted to look to the right for five more steps until someone opened the door and mirror-me had gone. Whoops. Missed it! I told him thanks, but not for opening the door.
I say to myself that I naturally fall asleep this way, legs just too far away from each other, because the stretch feels good. Not at all because I don’t know how to deal with the fact that my inner thighs might touch if they come together. I can’t.
I’m the dad who will vanish only to turn up one day, like nothing has been missed, like nothing is wrong. Because if you tell yourself it isn’t, then is it, really? ♦