✤, my ghost
09/06/2026, 23:39
by the time my eyes swim to the clock announcing noon, the bowl of milk from this morning is still next to me on the table, the sun has moved so much that it's not beating on my balcony anymore and yet i only rise from the couch for the first time in hours- because this is how slow i am about taking a single step.
when people watch the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind, they all wonder if they would go through the memory erasure procedure. it had always been obvious to me which person i would erase if presented with the choice. again and again, everytime i've thought about this conundrum, the answer would stay the same. i would not erase a thing.
the idea of forgetting him means forgetting who i strive not to be. everytime i remember his words i choose their opposites. everytime i remember his hand raising over me i try offering mine, palm up.
because anger drains me, just as much as shouting or holding grudges does. when i complain about my mother, my best friend will listen to every word and echo my sentiments and complain about her attitude in turn, which always makes my fingers pause. because my mother is kind and she loves me. and in spite of it all i love her. but if there was someone cohesive enough to spout the most cruel insults about my father i would simply nod silently. except that no one else does, no one else did but the 20 years old me, facing every one of these adults scowling at me for going against my blood.
the most vivid memory i have of this time is the moment i couldn't stomach him anymore. for some reason, i'd taken every hit, swallowed every insult, sucked up every reproach; but one day, we were all having lunch together, and the most vicious remark came out of his mouth about a victim being interviewed on the small tv. "you're a pig" was the thing that came out of mine when i made up my mind to throw this pretend-family bond he and i had and reject it with all my might.
the second one is of my mother, tears running down her face, her voice loud in the meeting room of her workplace, her knees to the ground while she begs me to "make an effort" and "think about the family". a woman whose face i had never seen before echoing her wishes and mixing it with blame and disgust towards a teenager daughter she doesn't know standing before her.
when i think of the personification of my suffering, i see a silent little girl with a simple yet pretty outfit, hair well brushed and pushed back with a black headband. understated colours, white, black, marine blue- nothing to stand out much. she's surrounded by 3 bunnies though they come and go and don't really appear to be that much important to her. no, what catches your eye is the big doll house she always seems to carry. if she opens it you'll be able to see 3 people in it. the house is busy and poorly decorated, it seems to crack under the pressure of some fights and creak under the weight of some others. there are 3 people who aren't often in the same room.
despite how i wish him dead my mind betrays me whenever my guard is down and keeps him alive in my dreams, nurturing what will inevitably prick me in my sleep, not allowing my wish for him to rot away come true. it makes him breathe artificially in my subconscious theatre, the scenes it sets more absurd than the last, as nefarious as my heart can take, just before it's too much that i wake up with the need to peel it off me like a pestilential veneer on my skin.
the gift i will give myself on my 28th birthday this year will be the erasure of his family name on me, and the addition of my mother's. a small residue of my grandmother when people will call out my name. i deserve it.