Sometimes I sit up at night and think.
I wonder what it's like for you in that cold empty cell.
With only a few bars to separate you from the world.
I wonder if you think I could ever forgive you.
I want you to know that I can't. That all the love and respect that I
had for you is gone. For that little boy who sat by the door every day
and waited for you is gone.
That little boy who waited for you to wrap your arms around him is gone.
That little boy who wanted for you to tell him you loved him is gone.
Who told everyone that when he grew up he was going to be just like you.
That little boy is gone.
Now I want nothing to do with you.
I don't want to look you.
I don't want to sound like you.
I don't want to be you.
For that little boy is dead.
And in his place sits a monster.
A monster that waits for you to walk through that door.
That waits to pounce, to attack, to laugh as he watches the light in your eyes fade
away.
For I am a Zamora.
But I am not your son.
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Thoughts?
