Heather

It's just now turning twelve and I can't seem to start this letter, but

it's better that the heading starts with this... Heather. I hope that this is

clever so whoever is reading this letter will turn away and

think, "Whatever," but anyways,

Dear Heather,

I wish things ended better, but whoever said love was the better may have been under the weather. Wishing for magic levers. I'm wishing that I never... hit you when mad as ever. But if I say never never, then never becomes the ever, so we'll never ever be the better, so I'll keep it at whatever, okay? It's hard to say what I said, but I said I'd say whatever to make it okay, and still you fled, and you ran with my daughter and left me to deal with the harder. You see, I oughta be pissed, but I can't even deal with the slaughter. You see, I'm happy on occasions, but I'm dealing with this sadness, and the meanness and the gladness, well it only mixes to make madness. Until my sadless smile is one hundred percent, I can't grow as a father. I am one, but I don't think that you oughta be a mother. You see, that's just my opinion plus everyone that I know. Now I know that I hit you, but the story plays out for more. You went back to your sheltered

life, I stayed up in here, Cameron, abandoned, but we still talked on the phone and emailed and such. But our reunion touch was rushed 'cause you never took the time to get mad, but I had, so when things were good, I was glad and on the way to recovery. Hugging me and sexting he and leaving our daughter neglected wasn't respected maneuver but you were clueless to our newborn. I never wanted that for her so I changed my life around and I found that I can break hearts and well as I can heal them. You remember that third strike when you cheated and I left and the breath that I was holding in so I wouldnt just let loose and just cry? Well Im still holding it in because I dont know where you're hiding or residing without my know or just never gonna be showing your father what I meant to you or what you really meant to me. Truth be told, my hearts on hold, but its not waiting on you. Its debating the diabolical aimed at your biological root. I didnt want you back even before the conception, but your dedication to the deception was more complexed, planned down to my erection. So say my say was nay on the day you came to tell everyone else, before you came to tell me. The days that followed made my swallow shallow and hollow. So sour I wallod around for months watching your plan just blossom into the awesome incredible collaso mayday mayhem that may hand me a defeat. The joy of having my daughter run to my feet is now a feat that I can't fathom, memories, I had to pack them, so I could just get stronger. Cause the longer I hold on is the longer she's still gone, and it's killing me loudly with the agonizing thoughts of if she dies, how would you approach me? Still with the puppet strings still attached to the spot in your back where you stabbed me? You're mad at me because it impresses Calvin, but imagine what happens when Jazmyn starts asking where her daddy is in front of all the other kids, and you don't know... because you don't know me, Heather.