I write. My hand is shaking; my eyes sting and fill. I add before pushing the notebook and pen back across the table, wiping a hand across my cheeks. As he reads, my impulse is to reach out, grab the notebook, run outside, dump it in the trash, bury ...
It's as if once you hit high school, you're programmed, like a robot, to be an asshole to your parents.
No one measures a life in weeks and days. You measure life in years and by the things that happen to you.
My whole life has been one big broken promise.
