Except for my sin. That much is real. I really did kill my father, and I'm not referring to some symbolic bullshit. I mean I literally, physically killed my biological father. Not that he needed much help to get there. He was terminally ill with cirhossis. But I did him in, nonetheless. And it gnaws at my insides that unless I turn myself in to the police, no one will know, no one will ask. Because I was a good child who was attentive to the man who abandoned my sister and I as kids; I was the one who never held a grudge and prayed for his well-being while my sister cursed his existance. But she forgave him in the end, and I murdered him in plain sight. And as he lay in the ER, dying slowly because he was afraid to let life go, because he wanted to live, I held his rapidly cooling hand as his blood pressure dropped, his heart rate slowing down, and waited for the end. Knowing the release it would bring, the never-ending pain I still suffer to this very night. �Lo siento, Papi, lo siento! No te quise matar y te extra�o. Extra�o tu casa y el olor de tu pelo en tus almohadas. El sonido de tu risa y tus ojos p�caros con cejas de gato. Fue mi culpa, fue mi culpa y lo hice sabiendo lo que hac�a. No fue ningun accidente y todos mis yos lo sabemos. No merecimos tu confianza, ni el secreto que murmuraste en nuestro o�do. Ni tu amor torpe e ingenuo. Lo siento por no haberte querido como tu pensabas, como tu querias que te quisiera. Perd�n por ser el mas vil de los traidores, por ser tan mal hijo, tan buen asesino. Esta herida nunca jamas sanar�.

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