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Put it down, I beg.

Do not look me in the eye.
Do not smile at me for even a second.
Do not dare tell me you love me.
Do not tell me you miss me.
You look at the bottle with more compassion than you have ever looked at me.
Do not try to hug me, kiss me, touch me.
You lost that privilege many years ago.
I blame the alcohol, you blame the alcohol, everyone blames the alcohol.
I have forgotten though, it was you.
It was you that chose the bottle over your daughter.
It was you that spent every last penny on a shot of vodka, instead of a birthday card for your little girl.
It was you who chose to hug the bottle, instead of your daughter.
It was you.
Why is it so easy to blame the alcohol?
Is it because I refuse to expect that my own father, the one who created me, could ever choose something such as alcohol over your own child.
WHY CAN’T I ACCEPT THIS?
I know it’s true, I know it is.
A part of me believes you will realize your mistakes, you will come back, you will make up for everything you have done.
But I know, so deeply, that love I have always wanted for myself
belongs to one thing, and one thing only.
So I beg of you, father, put the bottle down.

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