I did it.
I think you'd care, if only you could know I avenged you. You wouldn't be proud of how I did it,
though,
I know you're not watching over me and I know we'll never meet again and I know writing to dead
people is the not the best way of coping
I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the moment when I tell you that it wasn't satisfying, that I feel
bad about what I've done, but that would be lying and you never liked when I lied to you, so I'll tell
you the truth : it felt nice. Great, even. We both know I mostly did it for myself.
I know that if it was that day again I would do everything the same,
maybe even worse and I feel so stupid writing my thoughts on some paper as if I were in therapy
and
I miss you so much sometimes it gets overwhelming.
I'm sorry if I disappointed you, I'm sorry if I wasn't as good of a son as I could've been, I'm sorry I
didn't tell you that I lo