You were my faithful servant, passive and obedient,
letting me dress you up in frilly pink dresses
with plastic heels that clinked loudly against the hardwood floor
as you failingly attempted to walk.
I’d tell you that little elves lived in acorns,
that your curly blonde hair, so unlike mine,
clearly proved your adoption.
I took it too far as years passed on.
I was a kid, barely older than you.
How could you blame me?
How could you hold a grudge?
But it was about more than that, wasn’t it.
You got what you wanted, a way out.
Once travelers bonded by our tattered suitcases,
now separated by your choice.
Attempts to talk to you were met with words as sharp as knives,
My hand sobbed as I found the letters I wrote you gathered in the trash.
I had hoped you would read them, hoped to get through.
I might as well have written in invisible ink.