Block Tower

You knocked over my block tower. And I'm not sure I can ever forgive you for that. I worked so hard on it, it was perfect. It was so tall that I had to stand on my tip toes to place the highest block. But you came into the room and toppled it. I've never felt such deeply permeating anger.

I've spent all the time since thinking about why you might have done it. Were you angry with me? Was there a lesson you hoped to teach me? Or were you just plain mean? You might have told me, but I haven't learned what words mean yet. All I know for sure is that my tower, which was tall, is in pieces on the floor. Because of you. And I do not understand why.

And now that I'm tired of crying, I'm looking at the blocks and wondering where to start again. Whether to start again. Because what if you knock it over again? These blocks were all I had, all I was interested in. So I'm sitting here with my tear-stained cheeks, catching my breath from screaming, a tightly-clenched block in each fist.

Angry. Confused. Discouraged.

Finally, I look at you.