I don’t want to see them anymore.
I’ve let them down too many times.
They don’t talk to me. I don’t talk to them. Not truthfully anyway, I can’t take care of them.
I’ve stopped trying. I stopped a long time ago.
So have they.
I wish Cheryl were here. But them again all we did was argue, didn’t matter if the kids could hear. I wonder if she’s happy now. I hope so, at least I feel like I should hope so.
Ciffs is coming tomorrow, or whatever they’re called, they’re going to take them away. Then it will just be me.
Just me and the trash filled condo I call my home.
I haven’t told the kids, I know I should talk to them, say goodbye. But I haven’t. I even fucked that up. My last chance to tell them I cared. Instead I just put them to bed. Didn’t tell them it would be the last. Not that they’d’ve cared.
They won’t miss me.
They won’t miss me.
1 Comment
Add Yours →Hi Caleb,
You need to focus on changing up your sentence starters. Many of your sentences start with “I…” This is a danger of writing in first person. By repeating the sentence starters you end up creating a list, rather than a narrative.
There is a strong sense of internal monologue happening in this piece but something to pay attention to is your paragraphing. If you are going to separate the sentences into their own paragraphs, then there must be specific reason for this. Having a single sentence as its own paragraph can quite powerful, as long as it is purposeful.
Thank you
Mr Johnson