It is amazing to me how adults can still be so affected by their parents.
What their parents think of them.
Of their life choices.
I always think of myself as independent and in control.
Yet I get angry at times, and I cannot figure out why.
But the other night, I figured out why.
Because when you are an adult, sometimes trying your best is not enough for your parents.
Not like when you were four.
Or being yourself.
That is not always enough either.
So, I apologize that the painting I gave still had letters visible from my past that I have painted over
like I have on so many other occasions that I cannot even count,
because things just bleed through sometimes.
Even the present, and who you are in this exact moment
whether the other person likes it or not.
So, I am sorry about the painting. It has four layers of paint now
where the letters were bleeding through
and that is still not enough to cover it up.
Perhaps you can forgive me for not being able to hide the parts you do not seem to like.