"I'm sorry."

Those two words meant so much, yet so little to me. A contradiction to itself because I knew you were sorry but what were you sorry for, for allowing me to be raped and abused which lead me to do what I believed I had to do or sorry that you saw me again so you had to say something like this.

The funny thing is I'm not even sure you knew. I certainly didn't.

Present:

Happiness wasn't every a memory for me, it was a foreign word. Although many strive for happiness and may find it in different mediums of their choice, do they ever find the happiness they truly seek or is it all in vain. When you look back at your life most remember the good, they remember the first time when they were kissed, or that time when they were laughing so hard they couldn't breathe, or maybe the friends that they worshipped. But they don't remember that those so called friends use to tease them until they cried, or the first time they were kissed, just after the guy spread rumours round they were a slut, or when they were laughing so hard they couldn't breathe, they didn't understand that the joke everyone was laughing at was actually about them.

Maybe the mind is a wonderful thing in which you are able to forget that of the times you were hurt and isolated from everyone around you. Yet I, unfortunately, don't have this magical skill of forgetting, that's what it is though, it's magical. Only being able to remember the good is amazing in any sense but I am only able to remember a bad time in which I know I grew up in the world of hate and deceit. Maybe the reason I can't forget is because if I was to forget there wouldn't be anything to remember.

You stand and wait as the world seems to pour around us in the form of water. Your blue eyes twinkle with more emotions than I could ever name, but your eyes still hold the broken promise which you whispered so many years ago that only now you realised was still something I held on to. I now only just realised that your promise was something I held on to, I cherished maybe, hoping one day that you would come back.

Naivety was something I no longer possessed either, when I first met you, I remember you smirking at me when I would say something stupid or get embarrassed by the innuendos you made. I grew up. That's all I can say, I grew up and I changed. I was never normal and yet when I met you I finally thought that maybe I could be, maybe I could have the picture perfect, envious life. Leave the life I lead before and start anew with you without anyone knowing the troubles of my past, not even you. As I said though my naivety has passed.

I stand there for a few more minutes relishing the feeling of your hands around my arm but as I start to see you open your mouth I can't take it. I wanted to scream and shout at the world and ask why it gave me such a shitty hand in life, although this question would never be answered, I was still able to control what was left of my life and I couldn't listen to you say once again you were sorry or give another excuse as to why you left. Because you know what, I didn't care, not anymore; maybe the struggles I had been through had scarred me so much, that's what you use to say, although you never asked what struggles these were, even though I practically was waiting to scream them out.

I wrenched my arms away and caught you by surprise as your mouth formed an O and allowed me to take steps back. Yet they weren't in the direction in which I wanted to go, they were back to the forest. I hadn't realised though as I took my steps back there was a log in the way which I promptly fell over and landed on my bum. Yet you didn't laugh or smile or do anything. You stood and stared, your eyes following every movement I made. I wanted to tell you, make you leave, tell you of the treacherous thing I had done. I wanted to tell you why and not let you think I did it out of spite but out of necessity, out of need.

I killed my Mum.