I feel like you gave me a fake life story. A backwards story where what you said was not where you came from and much of what i know is not much of your life. I wish i could say i know you.
You’re right, that you can’t say you know me, but not for the reasons you think. You understand more of my childhood than my mother could ever dream of knowing. Nothing was fake. Im sorry I didn’t tell you he died. There are reasons I keep those things to myself.