It was easy.

When I say I found it easy to kill the person I loved most, I am not heartless. I do not lack love nor am I happy to kill anyone. I simply ended up in just the right circumstance for this final test, because the man I loved most was my father.

And what a love it was. I remember growing up I would constantly switch back and forth between idolizing and hating him, declaring every time he hurt me that I would leave him behind forever only to change my mind the moment he smiled. God, what a horribly beautiful smile.

I hold all these memories of him, back and forth as time passes. He teaches me to swim, splashing in the water and giggling together as we floated. He yells at little me for not walking fast enough. He gives me his favorite books. He hits me for a reason I can’t recall. He writes with me at the kitchen table. He rips my door off of its hinges.

Again and again and again. Memory after memory. A beautiful, kind, loving father. A bitter, abusive bastard.

He was the man I loved the most. And the one I hated most too.

I hope you understand now why it was easy for me to kill him.