In 40 years you gave me 3 (clipped) compliments and at least 300 (detailed) criticisms.
All to build MY character.
Had we spent more time together, surely you would have “improved” me to death.
You’ll forgive me if I never felt loved.
[“Like” was so far out of reach, I never even conceived it]
Mostly I raced and chased after your constantly climbing targets until I collapsed – empty, emaciated, and starving.
Your meager love gave out early. It never provided nourishment anyway.
What a waste of your precious time because I’m still wretched ME! All efforts to carve me into YOU failed.
No doubt you’re sad about that. I’m sad too because:
I DON’T [think I] MISS YOU ANYMORE.
Go ahead and hate me.
<Same shit, different day>