It’s hard when someone wants you to live your life as though you’re them, looking through their eyes, and seeing a plastic world. It’s worse when you age a little and realise they wore symbolic blindfolders all those years and stumbled. It’s good thing you didn’t comply to what they tried to superimpose on you or you, too, would be falling in limbo.

Dear daughter, your dad was an illusionist, creating a picture he painted out of the same plastic colors he said the universe was made of. Was it your fault for asking him if there was more to it than black and white? My dear child, was it an error that he kicked you out of the house or had he you done you a favor?

I really hope you are able to let go of hanging on to yesterday’s father and find tomorrow’s mom. Though I wasn’t with you in the past I am near you, right around the corner of where you live, and I’m walking toward you now. You’re father and I didn’t see eye-to-eye either, as the nights and days passed and we’d stopped looking at ourselves.

The truth is, your dad kicked us BOTH out a long time ago. On the day you were told to leave and you looked back to see me starring out the window, I wasn’t there. The house was merely an illusion and no one really lived in it. All that was really there was empty land, in a black and white plastic world that WE created for ourselves.

Though you may think we are strangers, I think we are friends. When you look in the mirror, you will see me in the reflections of your soul. We are each other’s teachers and students, finding ourselves breathing through each other’s breath. Every day is leading to what should be when I believe we are one.

From time to time, I even pray for your dad and want good things for him. He, too, is human and I understand his hurt. Just the other day, I was looking at all that empty land where we thought the house was and I saw something amazing: I saw a multitude of angels were there and they were building a new home. A key was magically placed in my hand and I didn't understand. I only know I was told I could live in the new place when it was ready.

“How long will I have to wait?” I politely asked.

“It’s going to take as long as you think it will take to move on.” The angels replied.

She was named after her mother you know; she could remember her perfume. she smelled like vanilla and chocolate. her father kicked her mother out because he wanted her for his own. why? because he was a jealous person.

her name was Emila Carmella Elivite. she has the exact same name as her mother. she looked the same as her mother other than her hazel eyes that she got from her Father.

she walked home on a rainy day. the rain pounding down on her black hoodie, she walked to her one-story house she shared with her father. but red and blue lights made her heart stop. she kept walking, until she was running down the street to her house to check if her dad was okay. but they were at her house, carrying out a gurney with a body on it.

"DAD, DAD" she screamed, running towards the gurney, a police officer held her back whispering that she was sorry, but her dad killed himself. she broke free of her arms and ran inside into her own room. where a rope was hanging and a sealed note with her name on it laid neatly on her bed. she inched over to it hiccupping through her tears.

Emila,

I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done to you, I was a horrible father. I kicked your mother out because you looked exactly like her. nothing likes me. but after you turned one-year old I noticed you had my eyes. I hated myself because you had to grow up without a mother, I kicked her out in pure jealousy, not thinking of the little girl that would need her as she grew. I’m sorry for my uncontrollable drinking. today is my 3rd sober day in years! but I’ve come to realize it needs to be my last. I always told you hateful things while intoxicated. I’ve hit you and I’m sorry for that. but I know that no sorry can ever redeem the fact the I hurt you, that I put bruises on you stemmed from my own hatred. I haven't left you alone. I’ve called your mother. she's coming to get you as you read this. you can finally meet her. please don't hate her my beautiful daughter. I’ve done this to atone for my sins. you know I don't believe in god, but I have truly sinned. I have hit you, and left bruises on your beautiful face. I have used you for money when I couldn't get a job. I’m sorry. I know you hate me, but I hope that one day you can truly forgive me and love me for the restored man I am becoming in heaven. I’ll come back to you when the time is right my sweet girl. but in the time no more cutting, please eat. become the best you can be, for me. as my last wish. forget everything I’ve ever told you and be the girl you were always meant to be. I love you Emilia Carmella Elivete.

love, Your father.

she never hated him, ever. no matter what he did she couldn't hate him. she knew he hated himself and he took it out on her. the familiar scent of Vanilla and Chocolate wafted into her nose. a gut-wrenching sob fell from her lips. she turned around and ran into the arms of her mother. who held her for the first time in years?

"you look absolutely beautiful my sweet girl" A soft voice whispered in her ear

gut wrenching sobs fell from her lips. she hugged her tighter.

she had her mom, but in the process, she lost her daddy, the only man who would ever love her the way a father could.

2 years later she stood at her father gravestone with her mother behind her she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the stone and muttered 14 words.

"I Miss you, Daddy, I can't forgive you yet, but i'll always love you."

"What was she like?" Luna asked her aunt from the kitchen table.

Blaire continued to clean as if she hadn't heard, much to Luna's dismay. Outside, the two heard the roar of the soldiers' trucks. Now that night was nearing, the soldiers were doubling and tripling outside. Voices lowered. Dogs barked at the trucks to no avail. Luna coughed to try to pull her aunt's attention away from planning for another long night.

"Did you know my mother?"

"Well, of course, I did. What gets you asking about her?" Blaire said as she went to work washing off the dining room table.

"Well, Ingrid's mother had said some things about her. She said she isn't as bad as people say she is."

"Well, Lydia doesn't know what she's talking about." Then, after a slight pause, "If your mother wanted to be here, she knows where to find us."

"What do you mean? What mother doesn't want her own babies?"

"That's what I said. But, once Elias was born, your mother just went crazy. She was mean to you guys and your daddy didn't want you guys in that environment."

"Sometimes, I see her in my dreams," Luna murmured.

Her father's truck pulling up quieted her. Blaire hinted that her niece should go clean her room, and Luna went up the stairs just as David got into the house. He planted a kiss on his sister's cheek and sat down. They spoke candidly for about half an hour before Blaire confessed what happened.

"Did you tell her everything?"

"Of course not, but she's smart..."

"I knew one of them would want to know her. I just can't handle seeing her again after everything she did to us."

"I understand," Blaire said. "Luna will too."

"Luna is her mother's child. I've seen how she treats the boys-"

"Stop that! She is not Kassidy."

"Blaire, you can't tell me you don't see it. I mean, she broke Charlie's nose last week because he tried to take one of her fries."

"David--"

"No! You know what I had to put up with. I don't want my daughter even asking about that woman. I still have scars. So do they. I don't want to put that energy back in this house."

Any point Blaire was going to make was shut down by her brother sobbing. She tried to console him, too softly for Luna to hear from the steps. She hadn't noticed the tears either until one fell on her leg, right above a splotchy scar. Deciding never to make her father cry again, she pushed her mother from her mind and went down the stairs to give her father a hug.

Daddy never speaks kindly of her. He tells me she was a druggie, a loser. A poor excuse for a human being.

As daddy tells it, she used to leave me alone in my crib for hours - soiled, unfed, sobbing until I puked.

He paid her to disappear. I did not know that until I was now years old and the tears are falling on my mound of belongings faster than I can tranfer them to the faded black valise.

As I pack, I catch my reflection in the vanity mirror and wonder if it is her eyes I see staring back at me. I wonder if when thinks of me, and cries, if her face transforms into the same mask of hopeless desperation I am wearing now.

But, wait...does she? Does she think of me? And cry? If she were here now, would she turn her back on my sobs? Would she feed my emotional hunger and cradle the wounded child living inside me?

The pile of money I had intended to use for bus fare suddenly feels heavy in my pocket and I wonder how many bus rides mama could’ve bought, with the money he gave her to walk out on me.

I wonder what price she deemed acceptable to sever the however flimsy maternal bond she had forged in our short time together.

I wonder if she is worth the weight of this change in my pocket...the weight of change, period.

My eyes dart between my reflection and the many framed pictures of my dad and me, scattered about my bedroom.

I begin to think that those who left us, those we never knew, are better left as strangers. In our fantasies, at least they can be kind, remorseful, repentant -

their love, unconditional.

If we hop a bus and chase them into our reality, the price tag could be much more than we can afford.