False Sense of Possessions

I find myself at a loss for words, feeling like I am nothing more than yesterday’s rubbish being cleared. Promises are such weak things, barely there, barely breathing and so easily broken. I suppose I tend to remember things that most people consider obsolete, placing the blame on their childhood, for they had never made such promises had they known the facts. My brother was my most prized person, the only human being I deemed answering to because he deserved it. I have loved him through and through, a love that knows no bounds, a love that seemed undying. He was the first man in my life that fooled me into believing that he would never betray me, never as my father had.

Father is an adoring man, seemingly worthless as a parent due to his absences, he attempts to buy our love through gifts and constant rewards. Rewards we didn't even deserve, much less want. Nonetheless, we had grown accustomed to this repetitious act, allowing it to give him peace of mind and a false sense of security. I loved my father, perhaps more than he loved me. He was my prince charming... until I discovered he was having various affairs, same as my mother. They had both seemingly giving up on their marriage at the same time, no regards for their offspring and their happiness. No excuses for the absent Christmases, no explanations for the missed birthdays. Their children were not their life, merely an accessory.

All of my life, all I can remember depending on is Rink. He was my everything. He made me feel I was his everything.

I am not just anyone. I am not supposed to be part of the pile. I hate him for betraying me and for leaving me behind. I hate him... for getting married. For not even thinking or pondering that maybe I would’ve like to say goodbye to him or hug him or hold him for one last time before he turned into some man that would be unrecognizable to me. Someone else’s man. A father even. A man that won't have time for me anymore, a man who will ignore my existence until necessary. Logically, what the hell would he care about these things? It doesn’t matter to him. He’s happy, he’s married, he’s starting a new life away from me... why would he care I felt like he stabbed me and double-crossed me?

Indeed. Why would he.

Life is all a matter of stairs. Some go up, most of us go down. He went ahead, went to the best floor, got the best champagne and just... moved on. I wish I could say the same about my feelings for him.

Nobody needs me for them to be happy. And apparently no one could care less that I am enveloped in pain right now. Instead of wondering, asking and otherwise seemingly worried over my state; they jump to conclusions and leave me to die. Because it's easier that way, resolves the matter of getting one's hands sullied for someone else.