Sometimes I miss it. The life, I've never lived. You might be thinking how that might be possible. The desire for something that never was. But my god, is it real. Sometimes I count the seconds since you've embraced me in nothing less than love. But then I find myself adding up to years. Sometimes I miss the bond we've never shared, but that only makes me angry. And sometimes I wonder if you ever notice, I’m always wishing upon sometimes because really, it’s all the time, that I wish I had you in my life. That I wish you took me out to dinner and told me I was beautiful. Outside of my head it sounds romantic, but when you crawl underneath, it’s really just the dull ache of a restless heart gone dead. The screaming of a daughter, infatuated with the thoughts of having someone to proudly call her father. Someone to tell her how lucky he is to have her in his life. Someone to hug her. And for someone whom has been gifted with such things, the touch of someone like so, seems so minimal, and unimportant. But to someone like me, it’s a reality that became a dream after the 4th grade, and left my heart in shambles as to why my ten year old self didn't deserve to be loved, or hugged, or kissed, or talked to. Because I had done so much wrong. Because I had problems. Because I wasn't like the rest. And sometimes, I believe in satanic thoughts like this. Sometimes, I sit up in bed, beside myself, as to why I was never enough for anyone. Why I was never loved. Why everything that happened, happened in such fury. Why when the straw broke the camels back, I became the first target, and your hatred was filled with unfathomable passion. Sometimes I wonder if you sit up in bed too. Unable to sleep because my screaming has driven you mad. Sometimes I wonder if you can still see it like I can. Sometimes I wonder if you’re always wishing upon sometimes because really, sometime is all the time.