I think at 23, I may have overlooked the meaning of love. It's such a foreign word, incapable of interpretation. Over the years, it shrunk to a millimeter. And my hands aren't strong enough to hold it in without destroying it. Slowly I may have forgotten what a warm meal after a long day feels like. Instead I come home, begging my luck I don't see my Dad. I play hide and seek with timing until the day is over. I put up a defensive strategy so he doesn't bully me.
I truly believe that he also, is a foreigner to the word. And he radiates so much negativity that I have no escape. I adapt to the reality he's created for me, in this house, and I curse the world for it.
He broke me and all that is good within me.
And I don't know how to recover.
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