By Aundréa Murray
Am I wrong? As my Father, I know you’ll tell me the truth. That same disgustingly, ugly truth you told me 4 years ago when I almost slept with my..well, you remember. Don’t you? You told me the opposite of what everyone else was telling me back then. You told me that I was not a whore. You told me that I would learn one day. You thought I wasn’t listening to you, didn’t you?
No, I heard you.
But things are different this time Father. You watched my eyes explode into my pillow last night. You listened to me ask myself in between sobs, “Why is love doing this to me?” I know that you wanted to ask me right then and there what the problem was, but I wasn’t ready. More importantly, I feared that you would not understand..
How could you?
Father, didn’t you tell me that love is patient, and love is kind? You told me that it does not envy, it does not boast, and it is not proud. “It is not rude it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
So why did love fail me last night?
I’m not calling you a liar at all Father, I just want to know why! Why did the one thing I’ve devoted every ounce of courage and any bit of emotion I had in this body you’ve created, fail me? Why did the grandmother of the woman I love look me dead in the face and tell me that me loving her grand-daughter in the fashion that I do, is wrong? Wrong? I did everything that you told me to do: I gave selflessly, I fought consistently, and I loved effortlessly. So Father, you tell me why love has failed me, after countless years of trying to expose my feelings while simultaneously destroying the pride running through my soul.
I’ll wait for you to text me back..