I had a dream you were standing on the edge of the dock staring out into the lake. A thousand children stood in the water. Watching you. A million little faces staring as you jumped inside and drowned yourself.
I didn't want to be a father. When I left our baby in a box outside the firehouse, I didn't know it would kill you. But it wouldn't have changed my mind.
When you tried to find him fifteen years later, he didn't want to see you. I told you he never answered the letter. I'm not sorry for lying.
We grew alone. Aged poorly. You missed your chance at love, because it was never me.
