She had the sweetest smile; her laugh was contagious and her personality charming. She was full of life. I also recall how you used to carry me around, take me out for lunch and play with me, spend time with me. There were good and bad moments, there were also moments I wish I could forget. I know we’re probably better off all alone, by our own, then requiring a man who could change his mind at any given minute. She was trying to hold, hanging on every careless word. Hoping one day they might turn sweet again, like it was at the beginning. You forced our love away like it was some kind of loaded gun. The boldest thing she ever did was run, taking us with her.
The aftermath of your mistakes undermined her spirit. I had to take care of her, tried to protect her heart but I couldn’t. A few months passed before I could see her smile again, it was there but not really there. It changed her; she wasn’t the same, she’ll never be the same again. I blame you for that, for not giving her the place she deserved. I blame you for letting us go. I blame you for giving up, and I blame both for putting us through so much stress and changes. They didn’t deserve any of the bullshit we went through. Desperate people find faith, and I used to blame myself for not praying enough.
Not trying to condemn you, we’re humans and part of that comes with all of our flaws. But I promise I’ll never make the same mistakes. I’ll not let myself cause so much misery. I will not break the way you did. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I can feel you again. But I just miss you and just wish you were a better man. I wish with all my heart and soul that you were a better man; I wonder if my mom would still be in love if you were a better man. Would it have been the worst if you were a better man?
For a very long time, I blame her, why couldn’t she just hold for a little longer? It took me some time to see the truth. It took her a very prolonged time to recover. There wasn’t a day that I didn’t tell her, “soon you’ll get better.” I hate to make this all about me but then who am I supposed to talk to? What am I meant to do? If there was nothing left of her. This won’t go back to normal, if it ever was. It’s been years, and we’re in a good place now. I kept mentioning every single day “you’ll get better” not only because she needed to hear it but me too. Someone else came, but he couldn’t fill your place, he couldn’t appreciate her heart. All the gifts represented nothing if he was incapable to take care of her. Now he’s gone for good. She’s now in a better place; she has learned a lot and me too. Because of you now I can say that I’m a better man.