I don’t remember when it began,

Or where it started

The time you held my hand and told me that you loved me,

And asked if I loved you:

I remember that.

You asked me to hold you for awhile, so I did,

Because I loved you, too.

I remember I’d wake up early to make you breakfast in the morning,

Before I went to school,

Because Mommy and Daddy were still at work

I helped you out of bed,

Made sure there was always a can of Coke in the fridge,

Because I knew how much you loved it

And I’d turn on the TV,

Because all of the buttons on the remote would confuse you

And when you’d fall asleep on the couch once more,

I’d wrap you up and tuck you in with your favorite blanket.

I remember that.

I don’t know whether to say I was foolish and naive,

Or simply misguided

Was I blinded by innocence? Or ignorance?

I don’t remember when it began.

Perhaps it was then,

When you merely held my hand.

I don’t want to be angry,

But I am.

I don’t want to remember,

But I do.

Your own granddaughter.

How could take advantage of me like that?

What gave you the right?

What gave you the right to hurt me?

To turn my whole world upside down,

And make me believe that I was the one who was doing wrong?

Months later I’d still cry myself to sleep at night,

Blaming myself for what you did to me.

How could you betray me like that?

I don’t trust anyone anymore.

I can’t even hug my own father without thinking:

Will he do the same to me?

How could you?

Why would you?

What was so wrong with your life that you had to darken mine?

Why did you forsake the people that cared for you?

They loved you.

I loved you.

I remember that.

Didn’t that mean anything to you?

You said we were just talking,

You said you did nothing wrong,

You said I was making things up,

How could you?