I had no idea you felt that way, Didn't know what you believed, Didn't know the things you thought I'd done, Or how you'd come to see me. I thought that we were building something, Helping dreams become a life, While somewhere underneath it all You formed another picture in your mind. Month after month the invoices came, A thousand here, ten thousand there, One month twenty-five Kay went out, And I sent it without fear. "Here's the bill." "Here's who to pay." And I would take care of the rest. Because I thought I was helping family. I thought that I was helping us. So how could you let me keep giving If you thought so little of me? How could you take what I was offering While believing what you believed? If I was cruel, if I was hateful, If my heart was what you say— How could you let me keep on giving Thousands more along the way? If I wasn't good enough to trust, If my character was somehow fake, Why was it that my money Was still good enough to take? The laser and the sandblaster, The property you chose, too, The years your dad kept working So the shop stayed there for you. The overhead kept costing us, Then the new shop came into view And every time another payment came, I gladly followed through. Not buying love. Not buying loyalty. Not keeping any score. I thought I was investing In people I cared for. So how could you let me keep giving If you couldn't stand who I had become? If I spoke so badly of your mother, If I treated your Dad so wrong? If I'd twisted words and hurt you, If you'd seen an evil side of me— How could you keep sending invoices And taking my money so willingly? If I wasn't good enough to trust, If my character was somehow fake, Why was my money good enough To take? And maybe that's the question I can never answer now: When did you start believing it? Was it then? Or only afterward somehow? Because that matters when I look back At every check and every bill. Were you angry while I paid them? Did you already feel this way? Or did your story come together Only later, piece by piece? I don't know. And maybe that's exactly Why this question still haunts me. Because if you didn't feel it then, That's something I can understand. People change the way they see things; Old moments look different looking back. But if you did believe it then— If this was already how you saw me— Why didn't somebody say, Stop. We can't keep taking this from someone We believe has hurt our family. Why didn't anybody tell me There was something deeply wrong? Why was I still funding dreams For people who believed I didn't belong? I would rather you had told me. Even if the words had hurt. I would rather have heard the accusations Than discover them in reverse. Because I could have answered if I'd known. I could have listened. I could have tried. I could have owned what belonged to me And challenged what I knew was not right. Instead, I kept on giving Not even aware of the divide. So how could you let me keep giving? That's not a bill I'm sending now. I'm not asking for repayment. Or even regretting what we allowed. I gave because I loved you. That part remains completely true. But now I know the things You believe about me, too. And I can't make those pieces fit. I turn them every different way: If I wasn't good enough to trust, If I wasn't good enough to hear, If I wasn't good enough to ask, "Is what we're saying really fair?" Then how was I good enough Month after month To keep paying what came due? How could you think so little of me... And still let me Keep giving So much to you? Maybe someday I'll understand When all of this began. But until then, The question isn't Why I gave. I know why. I loved you. The question is— Knowing how you felt about me, how could you keep accepting my money Month After month After month?
