i don't know who i am; supposed to be -- if only you were to love me -- only when i am the perfect replication of your mind's child.

your sharp, unforgiving words do not reduce who i am,
though all the more i feel unloved.

instead, i have reduced myself to a four-year-old child hoping, wishing, pleading to be loved even a bit -- by you.

by what i thought were sincere hugs & kisses,
*good morning & goodnight.