Out of Love

by Hazel Hayes

It’s not that he can’t see me now, it’s more like he can see me, but I’m spoiling his view.

I wonder if we’re all just the product of our parents’ fears and failings, and their parents before them. I wonder how far back the cycle goes, whether I’m predisposed to being mentally ill, whether I have any choice in how my life unfolds or the person that I’m destined to be. You could go mad trying to figure it out.