I wish you would’ve noticed.
The way I flinched at the sight of her
The way I laughed at things, even if they weren’t funny.
How I stopped calling you “daddy” 
Stopped leaving my room.
Stopped giving you hugs.

I wish you would’ve noticed.
All the bruises.
All the fear.
All the crying.

I wore them like perfume.
And still, you never smelled it. 

The scent was strong, filled with suffering and pain. 
It followed me everywhere. 

But you never recognized the scent of heartache.
Of betrayal.

And, eventually, I stopped crying altogether.
Because I knew tears wouldn’t make you notice anyway. 

You were supposed to be my dad.
I trusted you.
I loved you.
And you never noticed.

And even when you did,
you left. 
On your own terms.

And I was just strung along,
because I didn’t have a choice.

You moved on.
A new house.
A new girlfriend.
A new life.

But you never thought to apologize.
You never once asked what I wanted.
What I went through.
What went on behind closed doors.

I was expected to just…
forget.
But I never did.
And I don’t think I ever will.

Still,
you never noticed.
Or maybe you did.
Maybe you just didn’t care

I wanted an explanation.
I wanted to grieve.
Not for the people I left behind.
But for the person I once was.

I wanted to mourn for the version of me who trusted you.
The one who thought you would protect me.

Because you were my dad.

You were supposed to be my role model.
The one who was supposed to tell me that it’s okay.
To defend me. 
To tell me I’m not dramatic.
That it’s okay to feel this way.

Now, you just yell at me.
Argue.
Get mad because I isolate myself.

“Why are you so lazy?”
Your words chipping away at me.
Just how hers did.

Have you ever thought
I’m not lazy?
That, instead, I’m trying to cope?
Trying to live?
Trying to put on a happy face?

It’s ironic.

The person I thought once loved me, now treats me as if I’m a burden.

I never did get that apology.
And maybe I never will.

How do you forgive a ghost?

They speak no words.
They never say sorry.
They can never look you in the eye. 
They never stay long enough to watch how much it hurts.

You disappeared from my life.
Without fixing the chaos you caused.

I write letters I’ll never say.
Say goodbyes no one will ever hear.
Cry tears no one will ever wipe away.

You’re a ghost, but your fingerprints will never leave my skin.
You slammed the door shut, but your name still haunts the room.

How do you forgive someone that was never there?

You vanished before I learned to scream.
Now I only whisper.
Whispering “I forgive you”
Whispering broken promises, shattering before they were ever made.

You were supposed to stay.
You etched promises into my skin then peeled them off when my skin became too hard.
Like a coward.
Like a ghost.
I didn’t get a goodbye.
I didn’t get an explanation.
All I got was a lie.
Perfectly crafted by you.

I trusted you.
“She said she would come back.”
“She told me that I was the only thing that mattered.”
The vicious thoughts echoed in my head, swirling around like the wind in a storm.

I scream into empty spaces, hoping it’ll give me closure.
I cry in lone rooms, hoping someone will comfort me.

How do you forgive someone that never existed?

I searched for you everywhere.
But you're gone.
You left as soon as the opportunity arose.
I know you’ll never come back.

Maybe one day I’ll forget who you were.
But right now, I grieve you like a ghost who never died.

I mourn the person I once knew.
I mourn the memories we shared.
I mourn my love for you.

Because at one point, you were all that mattered.
Until you tore yourself from me.

The silence you left still screams at me.
Filling the air with words you never said.

I rehearsed every word I would say to you.
Every scream.
Every cry.
Every conversation.
I practiced every day.
And yet, they never entered the lonely atmosphere.

You took pieces of me I never knew.
I know that I’ll never get them back.
I search for the missing puzzle pieces in other people.
But they never seem to fit the hole in my heart.
In my soul.
In my identity.

Instead, I replaced them with hope.
Hatred.
Resentment.
Because I gave up on waiting for you.

Maybe you weren’t the ghost.
Maybe I am.
Maybe that’s why no one ever seems to notice.

I hate that no one else sees you.
I hate how you only appear in the mirror.
I hate how you look like me.
I hate how, in the end, it’s just me looking back. 

I wonder if ghosts can forgive too.
Do you miss me?
Do you even still care?
Or am I the one that’s haunting the past?
Am I the one who vanished years ago?
Or maybe, just maybe, am I still holding on to the little hope I have left?
Hoping you’ll come back?

Maybe I don’t forgive you.
Maybe forgiveness isn’t something for the dead.

I keep watering a dead grave, hoping something will grow.
Nothing ever does.
And still, I keep trying.
I keep trying, day and night.
Weeks on end.

Because deep down,
I know that if I stop,
Someone else will water the grave.
And something will grow.

Maybe flowers will bloom.
Maybe weeds will sprout.
It could be something wild, untamed.
Something exciting.
Something that grows without needing to be loved.

But it won’t be from me.
It wasn’t my love that helped the grave grow.
It wasn’t mine.
And that kills me.

I wonder to myself.
Why won’t the grave give me something exciting?
Why won’t it grow beautiful plants for me?

Why do all my efforts of trying to make something memorable always go unnoticed?

Maybe I’m not watering a grave anymore.
Maybe I’m burying myself.
And maybe I won’t ever get out.

I know it’s time to let go.
But I can’t.

So instead,
I wait everyday.
Hoping.
Believing something will grow.