I don't own Lie To Me.
… … … …
Everything happens for a reason.
A few years back I wrote a note.
On it, I told myself how beautiful I was; how it all mattered; how it all made sense in a nonsensical sort of way; how I knew there would be someone waiting for me somewhere; how I had been born for a reason, a significant reason, a better reason than the you-were-born-to-be-my-personal-curse that my father slapped across my face every time he drank slightly more than usual, which was already way too much for someone like him, someone who had heart issues.
A few years back I wrote a note.
And I felt stupid for it, but my counselor insisted. I remember hearing him say that I was my own rock and that I had to hold onto myself with as much strength as I had so that I could survive without suffering any collateral damage. I remember asking myself why I had chosen to talk to someone who knew nothing about my life besides what I told him. I had thought it would be easier for me to open up with someone I didn't know but I quickly found out that that idea was just another cliché, another cliché without the nice romantic cloak that the novels that even back then were already my daily company always seemed to have.
A few years back I wrote a note.
I was interrupted a thousand times before I actually finished it, but once I did, I re-read it to myself. I was shocked to find my mantras written there, the mantras I sang loudly in my head as he spoke to me, as he told me what I was and what I would be in the future.
Nothing.
Less than nothing.
A few years back…
10 years ago, to be more precise…
Just before I left home for college…
I wrote a note.
The day before I left for college, my father died of a heart attack.
On that very same day, exactly 10 years ago, I sealed my note with a kiss and a tear and then I buried it with him, I buried my past with him.
I started over.
With my baggage on my back and my luggage on my hands, I took a step forward.
And now?
Now I am at a Winter Resort with my colleagues from the Pentagon. Nice, isn't it? They always take us away for one week during the Christmas' season to make sure we are well rested and ready to start freshly in January.
So now I am sitting here, reading a book at the dinner table while having a scotch in his honor. I whisper his name before taking a long last sip, closing my eyes and letting the liquid burn its way down my throat.
And that's when I hear someone ask in nothing more than a whisper: "Daddy, is that Miss talking to herself?"
And that's when I open my eyes and see them.
And that's when I smile.
That's when it all beings.
Yes, everything happens for a reason.
… … … …
I know this is rather short and weird but I can assure you that it will make sense soon. It makes sense to me at the moment but hey, I was the one who wrote this. Hopefully I will be able to update this ASAP and explain a bit of what's going on.
Hope you enjoyed this bit of weirdness.
R&R, if you feel like it.
See you soon,
Tess.
