I saw it in her eyes. That escape. I know it to well. She moves on. Away. She always does. She is never present. She is already gone sitting here by me now. She is so full of disappointment.
It’s empty that distant look of hers. It kills me. It’s something that I recognize. It’s that look of being stuck in doing to much thinking.

Here we are. All grown up. We used to know each other when we were kids.
I remember you from back then. I don’t come close to knowing you now.

That grief you feel over our past away father, I don’t take it seriously at all.
I just feel that it’s natural for you to be thinking that it’s him you miss. But you didn’t even know him as an adult. You knew him as a child. He stands for all the good memories, your mother for the bad ones.

He wasn’t around to ever become the bad guy. He wasn’t even human in this sense.
A saviour in your life at Christmas or some sunny spring days drinking coffee in your back yard.
How can I say this? How can I do this to you? Because I was there, where you are now, thinking he would have made your day for the rest of your life, if he had lived today. But he wouldn’t, do you hear!
He was nothing but a guest in your life and he didn’t do his job as a father. Still you love him more then ever, now that he’s gone forever.

Can’t stand the glorification. It’s too expected for my taste. It’s even cheesy. It’s all part of your identity search. That little silly tattoo on you shoulder of a rose with the stem formed into an H. And now you talk about getting another one that reads “daddy’s girl”.

How can you come up with such a silly idea? How is it going to make you feel better? It’s ridiculous. I pity you. I don’t love you at all.
Why do you have to be so annoying and childish? Thinking that you’re all grown. Talking to me like I was younger than you. Don’t you remember that we played when we were kids and that you used to look up to me?
It’s just something agonizing you, it’s this constant hunger in you. You always want more. I am being unfair and judgemental. I am close to demonizing you. You know that I don’t mean to feel this way. I don’t want to ignore you. I want to care. But I hate the fact that we don’t connect.

It’s not like in the movies you see. The happy and fulfilling reunion of two long lost sisters.
The blood we share to me just feels reduced, pale and toxic.
It’s like I see my dirty sides in you. I want to pretend they are not there. I want to say that I wasn’t just like that at eighteen. But I probably was a bit like you. I don’t love you and I don’t love that part of myself. In a way I just wish you’d stop calling. I am as brutal as that. You are not welcome in my life. You can’t sit next to me and already be gone, anymore.