If my father had shown me what it meant to be loved by a man, then maybe I wouldn't have mistaken attention for affection.

If my father had showered me with lovely compliments, then maybe I wouldn't have fallen for the beautiful lies whispered into my ears.

If my father had encouraged me, then maybe I wouldn't have been so easily swayed by the words of those who promised me the world.

If my father had treated me right, then maybe I wouldn't have found myself searching for love at such a tender age.

If my father had communicated with me, then maybe I wouldn't have sought comfort in conversations with strangers who knew just what to say.

If my father had called me without a reason, then maybe those late-night calls wouldn't have felt so special.

If my father had told me, "I love you," then maybe those three words wouldn't have become the very tool used to win me over time and time again.

If my father had sung my praises, held my hands with admiration, and made me feel like a little girl worthy of the world's gentlest affection, then maybe I wouldn't have been swept off my feet by sweet lies disguised as love.

Maybe I wouldn't have mistaken bare minimum effort for extraordinary affection.

Maybe I wouldn't have found myself desperately holding on to people who only knew how to love me when it was convenient for them.

Maybe I wouldn't have confused being wanted with being valued.

Maybe...

And perhaps that's the saddest part.

© Winna'spen 🖋️✨