When things are good…
You smile at me first thing in the morning, even though we’re both worn out.
We laugh in the middle of he chaos that is bedtime.
We hold hands and talk about the future.
We snuggle close together at night.
But when they’re bad…
When you yell at me.
When you won’t even talk to me without screaming and storming out.
When you won’t listen.
When you come home and we tiptoe around your moods.
You slam doors.
You won’t tell me what’s wrong.
I feel like I used to feel. 5 years old, huddled in the backseat. Listening to them scream at each other. My mother crying. My dad driving way too fast. Knowing I was way too small for them to remember I was there. Knowing they never remembered because they never stopped yelling loud enough for me to hear. Huddling in bed, sneaking out into the hall way because I was woken by their angry words. Christmas. My birthday. Any day they could.
And here I am, 33 years old and I’m still her. And this time it’s my choice. And this time I’m stuck. And I don’t know how we go on. Or how we got here. Or how we get out.
If we can get out.
When it’s bad…I wish I’d never met you.
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