What do you expect me to say? You wait for an answer that isn't going to come.
Sure, I'll be more involved in the family. Once it begins to operate as one. But that starts at the top. You're meant to be the ones I look up to, that I shape myself on. I really, truly hope someone shoots me if or when I turn out anything the way you are. If the children that I most likely won't have end up looking at me the way I look at you.
I'm perfectly content in my own room, where thoughts can whirl around in my own head. My own thoughts.
I don't need you invading my space. If there's something I want to tell you, I'll tell you. Simple as that.
Then again I love keeping secrets. I love how they slowly, but surely, eat away at my insides until I can hardly take it anymore, so I can do nothing but let them escape through my eyes. You probably don't know what it feels like. Or maybe you do. I know I'm not the only one with things to hide.
The thing is, most of the secrets I keep are not kept by choice. I'd tell you, if you weren't you. If I had parents who listened, who understood, who were prepared to accept having a teenage daughter that made mistakes. One that wasn't perfect.
Don't you see? I want to make the mistakes. I want to make them for myself. It's the only way I'll learn. Warnings won't come to anything, that's down in the history books a thousand times over.
Let me be the imperfect child that does things she regrets.
Otherwise, you'll be disappointed forever.
Because I am that girl, and I always have been.
