After all of these years, I thought I knew
how to understand how you work.
How we work.

But, nevertheless, I am always blown away.
In awe? Wonder?
Disgust?

No.

I was your tiny dancer.
With each leap and bound, I would grip to you;
my tiny hands in your wide grasp,
and I was happy.

Each pirouette was flawless.
Each moment was treasured.
And then, I grew up.

While unpacking boxes in this new life, I found our videos.
And it was then I realized
my cherished memories
were just romanticized illusions.

I realized my lines weren't straight;
I had this weird habit of sticking my leg out to the side
all crooked, which I'm sure was a sight
But, I also had this stupid habit of relying on you.

I remember practicing every day
just to make you proud.
But, then something else made you proud,
And you forgot about me.

I began to see you less and less.
Eventually I hung up my dancing shoes for good.
Why would I bother trying to make you proud
When I was beginning to realize you never really were?

And now, all these years have passed
And you are trying to make me forget
About what you did.

No. About what you didn't do.

You say I was too young to remember.
And, you say you've changed.
And, you're right.
But now I'm old enough to understand.
And I'm not going to make the same mistake twice.

If you were proud of me, you would have been there.
You would have been there when I twisted my ankle
While I was trying to perfect a new leap for you.
But your excuse? "I was busy."

You know, sometimes, I forget about you.
And days pass without the memories of us
And eventually, those memories will leave me.

At least, I hope.