Bare feet

I can barely remember just as many details as it takes to find out nothing about where you might be now.

For the first time since you left, I’m feeling it now… I’m feeling this overwhelming regret.  I regret taking your yearly letters for granted, when I had addresses where I could reach you sent right to my doorstep each year.  They stopped coming a few years ago, after I so indignantly ignored them for so long.

I can find a few of them now, stuffed in my files or in the console of my car before I cleaned it out and got rid of it too.  They’re like crumpled leaves I used to examine as a kid in the yard, sifting through my fingertips and pulling the season away from me.

You were so pathetic the last time I saw you.  At the time I felt so justified, and I was so determined to keep you quiet at the funeral.  It wasn’t your day to die, but you insisted on turning someone else’s death into it.  I didn’t know at the time it might as well have been your funeral too… I just told you to stop making a scene and to leave me alone for the moment.  For some reason I thought we’d pick it all up later, but something inside of me knew we wouldn’t.

I guess I thought I’d always receive those yearly letters, and I’d always have the opportunity to find you again if I wanted it badly enough at some point.  Like so many things though, when you stop having the opportunity is when you realize you want to do something about it.

You’re the source of the loss I feel over miniscule things.  You’re the reason I’m so sentimental about everything.  You’re the reason I have such severe abandonment issues, and why I’m so damn paranoid everyone I love is going to leave me.  So I abandoned you…

I’m so sorry.  If you knew how bad I felt now… god.   If I’d have known, if I were older, I never would have abandoned you.  I’m just so sorry.