You do not understand.
I am not the favorite.
I am the driftwood he clung to, adrift at sea,
After the whole ship caught fire.
You were that ship.
He could not speak of the ship he lost, the ship he tried so hard to hold on to.
We grieved for her.
He tried so hard. He gave everything he had, but still she was torn from him. All he had left was this tiny piece of driftwood.
So he clung to that driftwood with all his might.
There are some sorrows too great to ever speak of.
He will always love you.
Laughs and Lobotomies 