• So, it’s my fault?
    Awesome.
    Why am I doing this to you? Oh, just because I’m a vindictive little wretch.
    And all I can think about it how to make you, and your unfortunate little life, miserable.
    Yup, blame it on me.
    Ignore me.
    Resent me.
    But oh! Wait!
    Who was it that came home staggering drunk last night? Hmmm…. Oh! Right! You!
    And who was it that’s been doing this exact lovely routine on a constant rotation, for oh, say, my entire life?
    Oh, you’re so smart!
    Oops, I’m sorry, you’re never drunk.
    My bad.
    You just ‘have been drinking’. Big gleaming difference right there.
    Sorry to sound condescending. Really, I am, but when I tuck you in like your four, and you’re supposed to be the adult here, it’s hard to see you as an equal, none the less a superior.
    Oh, you’re such a martyr, but the bitterness that has built up- like rust- had made me difficult to turn, like the knob to your door, that creaks when I say 'good night'.
    I love you.
    Then silence.
    You never do return it.