Flashbacks

You got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy issues you got daddy iss-

The door slammed shut. Or did it gracefully close? Did he close it? Did he slam it? I don’t recall memories and words as well as I do emotions. The past will always exist to me in blurs but I have learned that my emotions are crystal clear and crisp as day. I am an empath, a feeler, a ponderer, an action without words type of girl. So when I say he slammed my great-grandmother’s front door shut as I silently stood at the top of those steps, he may not have actually slammed it. But it felt like he did.

My father is a shadow figure in all of my memories. I don’t recall his face, his voice, or his touch. I don’t recall thinking about him that much. My father was a shadow, even when he was present in my life. It was easy to ignore him, to forget him, but I was quickly reminded of him every time I looked at my reflection. A fusion of two, a collision of pasts, a merging of lives so different they couldn’t last. Was I a product of love or lust? Am I a carefully forged mistake? Or am I merely a reminder of my mother’s fate? I am her mistake, her destiny.

After that door slammed shut, nothing changed. My father remained a shadow and out of herself, my mother created a false oasis for us to reside in…until she found God.

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