Perhaps it was you and your high standards. Maybe it was me, always breaking my back to try to live up to them. It didn’t matter that I was too young, or too inexperienced. You’d teach me high-handed anyway. It didn’t matter if I had an opinion. You’d give me one if you wanted. It didn’t matter if I was your little girl. As long as you got what you needed.
There are so many words I wish I could say now that you’re gone. But I know, if you were here, I’d be silenced anyway. In what reality do I earn my freedom? My independence. In what reality do I love without some memory of you in it?
© Sarah Doughty