Was I ever really a good kid?

Some nights, when the world outside is asleep and all that’s left is the sound of my own heartbeat, one question keeps circling in my head 

"Am I disappointing them?"
And quietly, just beneath it 
"Was I ever really a good kid?"

I grew up with more love than I probably deserved.
Every small dream I dreamt  they turned it into reality.
Even when they couldn’t fulfill their own dreams,
they chose mine instead. Always.
I never had to ask twice.

They gave me everything  not because they had everything,
but because I was everything to them.

They never made me feel small for failing.
They didn’t yell when I didn’t get the job.
They never said “Look at others, why not you?”
They said “It’s okay, next time.”
And that quiet acceptance… it hurts more than any harsh word ever could.

Because now, when I look at them… they don’t ask anything.
They just smile gently.
They say “We trust you.”
But their eyes, they say what their mouths never do.
There’s a kind of silence in their gaze.
One that waits. One that wonders.
One that still holds on.

And that silence?
It eats me alive.

I know I haven’t become everything they imagined.
Not yet.
And I know they carry their own pain quietly, hiding it behind proud words and soft glances.
But I feel it.
I feel it every time I walk into the room and they ask, “Are you okay?” when it’s me who should be asking them.

They deserved a daughter who’s already settled, already shining.
And what they got is me a little lost, still building, still hoping.

But if there’s one thing I can promise them 
it’s that I’m not giving up.

I am not done trying.
Because when someone loves you the way they do 
with full hands and open hearts 
you don’t quit.

I just hope…
One day, when they look at me,
they won’t have to hide that quiet ache in their eyes anymore.
That they’ll finally see 
their love was never wasted.
And neither was I.