All this time, i thought i was just impetuously brazen, but no.

I miss you, papa. More than I can understand on my own. It’s like I’m here but i’m also in pieces. So i walk around with these jagged pieces of heart glass that poke me in any random chance. 

Sometimes not at all, sometimes every color of the rainbow. 

I don’t know why the thought of you not existing anymore makes me cry and wail and thump wildly at my chest. 

Never—anymore — such permanent words. Echoing alone. Why? Why can’t you answer back? 

Tell me happy birthday. Tell me I’m the best. Tell me you’ve been practicing the speech you will make at my wedding. Tell me…tell me. I wanna hear your voice, damn it. Tell me I’m pretty. 

Papa, i’ve been feeling uglier and uglier these past few months. All this time, I thought I was just impetuously brazen and naturally secure, but no. It was because you always thought I was pretty and I always saw it in your eyes. Not at all like how others tell you you’re pretty out of consolation. 

You always said I could be prettier but you aways thought I was pretty, didn’t you? Because you kept saying it without me posing or fishing for it all this time when you were alive. 

Turns out you only need one person to convince you of your beauty. You were my one person, papa. And now you’re gone. I don’t know how to be beautiful anymore.