When I was young, I didn't know. I didn't know why my parents stopped loving each other. I didn't know why love was so tender, why it was so easily harmed. I of course didn't know why people needed love. I was never loved as much as I probably should have been. To them I was a competion. I was something to own, not someone to love. They fought over things like me,
"I'm the better parent, I took him to the movies not you."
"But I took him to the coast on the weekend,"
I didn't know why that kept on going on. I didn't know why my mum was so sad, why she disappeared. She gave up fighting for me and took Charlie, our dog, instead of taking me with her.
I didn't know why I was called by the hospital. Why I had to go to the north wing to visit my dad. I didn't understand what cancer meant, or why it was a bad thing. I didn't understand why suddenly, my mum reappeared in my life. Along with another 'dad', a replacement, and a sister.
I didn't know why I ran away, from them, from my life, from the people that 'loved' me. They paid for my schooling and my food, but it wasn't the same. I wasn't loved properly. I didn't know much but I knew I was being looked after out of pity, not out of care like it should've been.
So many things I didn't know, but now I do.
I know I don't belong.
This is not about me, I wrote it about a friends experience, she didn't run away, don't worry. I know enough about her past that I can write this abstract peice. She wasn't loved as much as she should've been.