I am not yours and you are not mine. This scares me. We used to belong to each other, but now you won't even look at me. A father to me, you used to be this, but not anymore — not ever again.

You came along at the worst of times, when I was open like a book. You entered my heart and wrote your story there, and I kept it locked up tight. Yes, you read me and I read you, but now we're blind.

You held my hand when I was scared and you cried for me when I was sad — I was always too proud to cry on my own. You taught me what it is to forgive, for I've never forgiven anyone so much as I've forgiven you. But now you're gone.

You gave me a choice: to love you or not. And while I called you by your name, not "Dad", in more ways than one you were more than that. Your skin was dark, mine was paler than snow, but our blood was always thick with love. Yes, I loved you and you loved me, but now I think you might hate me.

You left. This is the scar on my heart, on our story, interwoven with equal measure of pain and forgiveness. This scar, it will not heal, because though it is bad enough that you left, you took my love with you. And I've had to patch up the broken pieces of our family, five large and heavy pieces that you dropped — forgotten — when you fled this home. And now I think I hate you.

You left. But you left behind many things: hatred, confusion, shame. You left behind two beautiful babies who miss you, but who will forget your face over time — you never show it. And you left behind two teenagers — not your blood, but we never noticed — and a wife who can't forget. We will always remember, the good and the bad. I think you like it that way.

You left. But you never came back. And while I've decided to forgive you — decided to try — I cannot forget you. Trust me, I've tried. Last night I found some pictures of us, Dad, and I couldn't see your hatred. I looked for the insanity, the thing they call bi-polar, but all I saw was a smile. You were happy, then. And I liked it that way.

I am not yours and you are not mine. This used to scare me. We used to know each other, like father and daughter, but now you are a stranger. And one day I'll pass you on the street, and walk right by you. You won't even see me. I'll wonder where you are going and what your story is, but I won't know. I'll have moved on, and so will you. And I think that's the saddest thing of all.