The Plant Man

I am wickedly unhappy tonight. I am confused about everything. Unsure of what or who I want. Where I am going. I can't seem to focus on anyone or anything. As if I have unpacked my suitcase but have nowhere to put my things. Because I sometimes, most times don't want to be here. I want to be with him but most days I hear nothing from him and I can't help but think: if he really cared...if he really loved me, he would write. He wouldn't be able to help himself. That's how I feel.
My dad writes and says; Amy, be good to Simoun. When you say things it hurts him. When you disregard him, it hurts him. I think, I know that dad. I know. Why does no one watch out for me, dad? What about all the times he hurt me? What about my life that he's wasted? Because he can't pick up the pieces of himself that were loosened all his life and now he can't move anywhere. He sits idly, cutting plants, feeling sorry for himself and my life....my goals have had to change in order to meet his deficiencies.
What about that.
I know I have made some bad decisions with my own life, but I am still here and still hold my dreams close. Most days I feel they will remain just that; empty, unfulfilled dreams, but then when something changes, when I glimpse myself living another life, a tangible change, I know this is not fate but rather a malleable, unmolded world.
I wonder though if I don't believe that HE is that key. Is it HE I depend on? He who never writes. Who I will always love and never have. Yes! I believe that's it. Otherwise, my life stupidly, placcidly moves along.