For a long time I’ve let my emotions reside in a safe room in my head that suggests my father could still care. For a long time I put band aids over the wounds that were carved into my skin from his sharp tongue, cursing me for everything I've ever done.

He needed an excuse to leave and even though I was daddy's little girl, he had to blame someone. So at 13 I was his reason, at 13 my first love left me saying he wasn't happy anymore and with him he took a piece of my heart that no boy can ever replace.

What was left but a bottomless pit of anguish that I've been trying tirelessly to fill with shoddy choices, self destruction and drugs. I've spent a lot of time playing pretend, building up the walls that he tore down the day he left. Dwelling inside a beige fantasy, where I don't let anyone in or out.

This way I figure, no one can wreak havoc on my patched together heart that I call home, with boarded up windows and doors. but it's not home here, it's not happy.

It's such a cold, dark place lit only by a tiny amber glow in the fireplace that's burning on the old memories of my childhood, from before he walked away and broke my heart.