The truth is
my parents never
loved me.
That's the
truth.
I didn't experience
moments of
care, affection, or compassion
because
their
hearts were of stone.
The lowest manifestations of life care for their young.
That instinct,
that
movement,
did not flow within them.
It hurts to come upon this wave of realization.
That
wave
drowns me
only because I haven't
gone deeper.
My parents did not
love me
because
love was absent from their hearts.
They, too, never loved.
It had nothing to do with
me.
They, too, were
lonely.
Desperately
lonely.
So much so,
that
they were blind to
me,
covered in their
darkness.
Oh, how I pity them.
Oh, how I pity
us.