I was really looking forward to showing you how to write your name. How to turn ink into an inferno, a proud declaration of existence emblazoned on to a flag that you would stab into the mountain of life. I was excited to see you have all the confidence I could never muster in myself. I had hoped to nourish you enough that you would never fall apart at the thought of yourself. That I would be there after your first goodbye kiss to tell you from experience that it would be all right. But I am realizing now for the thousandth time that I am not the man I hoped I would be.
I do not sleep much. I have been laying in bed thinking about how we will never meet. I used to be crippled by emotions but now I am running on empty. Every three steps forward is followed by thirty leaps back. That even if I could pull you into existence I do not think I would ever do right by you. I always end up not doing right by people. Because I have never done right by myself.
Unless it was right to not subject you to all this by realizing I am never going to be a father.