This is just to say that I won’t be coming back. I’ve never felt at home here, and I know that it’s my fault. When our mother died, you took me in. No one else would, and I know that, so I’m thankful. I know that you’ve tried very hard to make me a success, and I know I’ve failed you, I’ve disappointed you more times than I can count.

Sometimes, at night, I used to pretend you were mom, place your face over hers in my memories. I’m sure it would have been better that way. It’s her in me that’s taking me down this road, not you, and you know that. You know the mirror downstairs, the one that fell off the wall last week? It didn’t fall, I broke it. I couldn’t look at myself in it anymore.

I decided when I heard it crash, when it slashed across my legs and arms, that I’m just being a burden on you. The life you wanted to lead was in that mirror, and I’d broken it. It wasn’t fair to you. You’re only 7 years older.

I love you, and I hope someday you can forgive me. I just couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.