who expected me to know how to raise a daughter? i’m no father. this isn’t me fishing for a compliment; i know i’m undeserving of one. nonetheless, to my credit, i loved this little girl, the way she meshed her hands in the net, pulling out slimy kelp bits and throwing them on the deck where they landed and were not moved and the sun beat down and plastered them to the wood, and all the while in my mind i watched her age and plaster herself to a boy, leaving muddy footprints in each other’s rooms all winter that i would pretend not to see and his parents would yell at him for, saying those aren’t your feet son, and all the while the two of them will fall into the dark they don’t understand, hunting, breathless, chasing the light they hope they’ll find, and all my wisest words of caution will never make sense to her. but ah me, all that could have been in the future, and she was still my baby, my little girl who loved me, who loved life, who loved everything and nothing, who delighted in the mundane in a way i now cannot.
but back to the past, my nightly dream, my bittersweet memory on the boat – i smiled down at her and she was all glow, all golden brown hair and skin and eyes, all beautiful and small and easy to protect. it will never be that way again, and i will never be able to remember that day in all its perfection, as it really was. i was losing her beat by beat, measure by measure, to this sickening game we all play called life, and the orchestra was getting frantic while i tore my hair out piece by piece. the problems were always in my head, only in my head. i held out my arms out and she wanted to snuggle in, wanted me to make everything all right, but i always knew the day would come when she finally understood I could not, and still to this day years later i never have and never will.
is it true that love is sacrifice, or is it just selfishness, because you know you’d rather let someone go than watch them slowly realize how you’ve failed them? i believe this took a turn. let me go, boys, for i’m an excuse for a man. let me live to die, because i have no other way to live without her. i’m already marching to my own funeral drum, and i’ve made the casket.
giving her up –
the papers
signed in bloodred ink
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