Hey. It's been a while since you left, but I still don't know how to start writing what needs to be written. But I've never been good at starting things. I find myself in the middle of a thing without knowing how I got there, and I guess that's what happened to us. Talking with you was easy. I am always double-checking my words, holding them up to see if they would match the image I'm projecting. But with you, I never had to do that. Maybe because you talked less and listened more. I believe that people have too many opinions. They forget that life is not a one-size-fits-all. We each have our unique experiences of the same things. You understood that and listened more. In hindsight, I wish I had encouraged you to talk more. Now I feel like all I did was take, take, and take. They say history repeats itself, and I was determined not to repeat my parents' history. I know I told you my mother and I were estranged, but I never told you why. It was because my fath
Stories that are never as they seem