Honest to blog.

It's longevity that I lack.
I can't connect the dots.
Not to mention I can't be the the last off this sinking ship.
Not again.
I have a mind of my own but I lent it to someone.
I can't recall the name.
But I did leave a return address.
Worried sick, I'll take my guilt to go.
Hold the inquiries please.
I'm not always right but sometimes I am.
If you could accept that then we could finally move forward.
If only an inch or two.
These small steps, they do add up.
I'll tell mom you called.
And I'll tell sister that you'll write.
Sorry for being that shrinking violet.
Camoflauged in the background.
That tortured sould that ironically didn't endure much torture.
It's all for the autobiography she said.
But you can't fake true experiences.
That's what she's learning.
I'll make my bed and get out of your hair.
I'm sorry for stealing your money, your precious momentos.
I'm sorry for filling my air sacs with all that cigarette smoke.
I'm getting eaten alive by misqitos.
That has to count for something, right?
Right?
I know you are scared of me migrating so far away.
But i've never been so sure in my entire life.
My head is in the clouds and my feet are on the ground.
None of this was just in "spite" of you.
Let's make a pact.
Here and now.
I'll be the daugher, you be the father.
And with that the real journey begins...

Eternally yours, Madison Taylor Weigand.