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You wore your abandonment issues and insecurities like a winter scarf to protect you from the cruel cold world

And every time you self-medicated your wounds, your lesions, your scars

The fibers of that scarf grew thicker

She told me you went for a walk that day, and I stared out the window wondering how far of a trek it was to Chicago

I was young, and maybe my depth perception was shotty, but every brownstone on our street looked like a new city to me, I figured you hadn’t gone far..

Almost a decade later, you called me, and I heard the voice of someone else’s father ask me how I was, a voice tinged with Heineken and regret, a voice muffled by a scarf too tight around the jugular.

I heard the soft laughter of my new baby stepsister who unbeknownst to her had been cast as my stunt double

For you see, to him, I am just a ghost, the ghost of a family he could never have

So you made a new one, didn’t you? And I’m sorry I can’t forgive you

But that scarf isn’t formal wear, and it’s not welcome at my future wedding

One day I’ll walk down the aisle with my mother by my side, and everyone will stare at the void on my left, where you should be

And I will know that you are somewhere, sitting, sitting in that same armchair, the game’s probably on, beer in hand, wishing you still knew me

At least I know you’ll be warm..


Created: Mar 26, 2011


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