Jun 06
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Impossible Regrets

The casket smelled of sawdust and perfume, as if a dad had made a doll house for his daughter. The rest of my family was quietly weeping. I had lived a mostly nice life with my father, but he was getting old, and I knew his time was coming. I wasn't crying because of his death, I wasn't crying because of my mother’s look on her face, and I wasn't crying for how I treated him, for I treated him well. The look of shame and tears was because I never really told him the whole truth. I never told him that I am crashing at my friends house, I never told him that I don't have a job, and I never told him that I started smoking. 

Was it my own pride that kept me from telling?

Was it the feeling of disappointment I know he would show? 

Why can I not tell the truth? 

What is it that makes it so hard for me to face the truth? 

What if I just told everyone what I really did or felt?

What if everyone told the truth?

Was it better that I didn't tell him?

Anyways, I probably shouldn't tell my mom, she's going through enough currently.

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