I also wrote a follow up to "Relating" that not many people reviewed. It's called "Unresolved". Go ahead and read
and review it. Don't make me re-upload it. :)

Anyway, this is Draco talking to his son. I don't know. I get inspired to write strange things.

Growing Up

by Badtz-Maru
 
 
 

You look like your mother, child. But you have my eyes and my soul. But you know that, don't you?
You've learned from the muffled whispers at school and the endless arguements with her. It's true. I
know you will doubt me, as all children will doubt their parents, but I see myself in you.

I know you, child. I know you as I know myself. Do not try to deny it. I know that you have a pack
of cigarettes behind your books, a joint in your drawers. I did too, child. Why don't you tell me? I
understand, you know. Do not look at me so skeptically. I was just like you once. I know your wants
and needs. I know your future. It is written in the stars.

You are broken and bent, though you may not realize it. But why are you so happy this way, child?
Don't you want to be right again? Perhaps you have forgotten how it feels to straighten your back and
smile.

Are you really happy this way? Living among your own shadows? Does it plese you when you hurt
someone and your words scar them in a way no one can heal? Of course. I was once like that too.

You blink your silvery eyes at me, and I see that your hands are shaking. You have my hands, too.
Beautiful hands. You're mad, aren't you, child? You are upset I know your secret life. I know it, but
I don't understand it. Don't be so sure, child. I know more than you think.

I see the framed picture in the corner. Forgotten and dusty, but I remember it. Do you? You did it
when you were still young. When you weren't too old to sit and paint clouds and birds and the sun
with me. When all it took to make you happy was a tray of watercolors, not the dark addictions
you have now.

I loved you, child. I still do. I love you every time I see you. Sometimes it hurts. You will understand
when you have your own, though I wish you wouldn't. It hurts in a way you can't know.

But here you are now, child. You are no longer an infant, but not yet matured either. You are digging,
but you're not getting there. You still have your anger inside, and it hurts you. It hurts me too. But do
not cry, child. It is only part of growing up.