Weeks of my childhood turned into
A waiting game over which parent would remember our existence first.
Would it be him with the tired, wet eyes. With the rough, accusing voice. Or would it be her, with the broken heart and the soft touch.
Would this be the week that I didnt see him? Just a closed bedroom door and quiet footsteps in the middle of the night.

I've spent my entire life telling myself
That tomorrow will be the day that you love me.

29 yrs in, and I think I feel ready to tell you -

Im not invisible. You lied.