Father, I've never understood why you can't love me, the way that you love others. I've never understood why you couldn't see in me, what you've seen in my friends.

I've never understood why you cannot stand to touch me, why you won't look me in the eye for longer than ten seconds. I've never understood why our every conversation turns into a fight, unless there's a joke lying beneath.

I've never understood why my passion for writing is a joke in your mind, and I've never understood why your eyes cast a shadow of disgust while in my presence more often than happiness.

I've never understood why you resent my existance, why I irritate you the way that I do. I've never understood how the one relationship that is supposed to be so sacred does not exist and never has.

I look at my friends in envy, father...for their bonds and for their love. I look at my friends and envy, how their fathers embrace them when they cry, instead of remind that their performance was less than perfect.

I watch my friends and their relations repectfully. I watch how when they fall, their one constant is there to catch them, and I cry...happy for them, sad for myself. I cry, because you are not my constant. You have never been my constant, because you have never wanted to be.

I cry, because I'm certain that trying again will produce another failure.

I'm sorry, father...that I'm not all you imagined me to be. I'm sorry that I have not met your expectations and exceeded them.

I've always tried, father...to be the best that I can be. I've always strived to see you proud of me just once.

But now, when my inspiration is lost, and my soul is slipping, I cannot turn to you to confide. I can only pray that you accept my pain and not mock it, in hopes that you'll shed a tear for your loss.