It's so simple. Seems so simple, should've had it years ago.

Single-parent children, we're not excuses. We're not using memory crutches to swing at the crowds. We're quite developed, almost exponentially.

We're thirty-six, and we fear the hell out of being alone; and we rail against being left alone.

It's not drama. It's not a lonely man becoming excuses, swinging crutches. It's that, when it happens so early in our lives, there's no way to fight back. There's no way to ask forgivness. There's no way to fight. There's no way to know what we did, if anything. There's no way to accept. There's no way to fight.

So, these dancing days, we fight. In our heads, we damage you before you've picked up your keys.

We see you not for who you really are - we see your face composed of the fifty faces of the demons that dragged our daddy away.

We expected this, all along; because before daddy, before mommy, there was nothing.

We had nothing; then isolation; then fear; then the expectation to survive, mate, smile, pray, die.

We're doing okay, mostly.

We children of one.

But, we're scarred, to the point where we know it and it makes us so strong, it damages us, and we're unable to judge a single feeling clearly.

See, to us, we're damaged because we were abandoned. And you, you are perfect.

Right up until the moment you leave.

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