I felt nothing. And I told him I felt nothing. He said he did too. Said he didn’t enjoy spending time with me, and that I treated him like shit. He said he loved me, but he didn’t really like me.  That’s not really how I felt though. I used to. I used to feel anger, burning, riveting anger, and maybe even delight from the feeling. Vindicated.
But now nothing. Told him I was exhausted.

In a weird way, I felt at peace, somewhat relieved. There wasn’t love, no sort of forgiveness or reconciliation either. Just, well, nothing.

Maybe I couldn’t stay angry forever, I knew I didn’t want to. Maybe I learned to give it up.

That was over a month ago and that’s the last conversation I have had with my father.