still

I want to tell y'all how much he hurts me.  Just little things, minor disappointments, a change in his inflection, the bass in his voice, the misdirected anger, it just hurts. But then I convince myself that there are worse things, there are worse pains, there are lying men, there are cheating men, there are thieving men.  He's not one of those men and though he doesn't shatter me into bits and pieces, he's slowly chipping away at an iceberg he acts like doesn't exist.  


I've never asked anyone to love me, I've never begged for anyone to care about me but I find myself begging for something I know all too well that he is incapable of.  He doesn't love like I do and that doesn't mean that his love is less than, it's just not enough.


Does that make me ungrateful?  Am I picky?  He doesn't even believe in unconditional love and I need unconditional love.  I require unconditional love.  I get cranky when I'm hungry and when I don't feel beautiful, everything around me feels ugly.  And I get sick a lot so I need a love without conditions because I won't be able to grow in that kind of love.  I will barely survive in that kind of empty love but that's how he loves.  I've learned that love is like an apology.  It can be sincere but you don't have to accept every single one that comes from someone else's lips.


But I love him still even when it hurts, even when I have to walk by him in the street and act like he's just another stranger with a story I'll never read.  Even when I'd rather struggle because my pride is way sweeter than a bitter favor, I love him still.  


I love him still.
I love him still.
My heart beats the very name I carry.


I love my father, even though he doesn't know how to love me.
I love him. Still.