You’ve snapped this house in to rooms. Covered in frilly lace that hides the hairline fractures, held together by flimsy family photos, the collars of the beloved family dog, memories of vacations to Italy and Disney world. All the magic that I once looked to, that mystical rope that once held four people together was but a broken piece of string. Not even that, it was cut cleanly in many different spots, purposely. What am I to look to now?
I am barely even to mouth a silent “I love you” to my brother. I know the pain he must be feeling, but my own pain is blinding. I cannot bear to see the extent to which you’ve ruined it all. His jokes make light of it, but all I can feel is the heavy press of the heat from the vents. But the room is cooling down again.
Just a moment before he was dead-silent, caught in the crossfire of what some call a broken household.
I never knew, before this, the pain that others had felt. I once saw my friend crying over her parent’s and thought to myself why is she so upset? Can’t she suck it up? Now I know, and I wish I didn’t.
Somehow I think that I’m worse off than her. There’s that generalization of divorce, but what about the subgeneras of that pain? I don’t really know if I’m better or worse off. Am even I special, or is this normal? Once, I wasn’t special because my parents weren’t divorced, then now that it has happened, there are so many others that are divorced too.
I was special before and now I’m just an object of pity. Something people like me used to wish for: something to give them life experience, to make them jaded and scared and attractive. I used to want that. It was cool. To read about damaged people who are saved by their true love 10 years in the future. But what if that doesn’t happen?
I could be left all alone like everyone seems to be in real life. What if it’s not like Marshall and Lily? What if they don’t even exist? At least when my parents weren’t divorced I wasn’t so doubtful. I was always speculative, but now… now I feel afraid for the future. And I’ve already spent so much time being afraid.
Afraid of the dark, of talking to strangers, even of automatic toilets. It seems as if half of my life is just fear and apprehension. I want to know something for once, and be confident in it. I want to be able to say: I know that Marshall and Lilly exist somewhere. I know that, if I really think about it, the dark isn’t all that bad and strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.
I guess it doesn’t really help that all of my other romantic conquests haven’t ended so well either. High school’s just awkward I guess. Nothing I can do about that. And if I accepted cheezy sayings I would say: “Time will tell,” possibly in a Morgan Freedman-esque voice.
*Marshall and Lilly from How I Met Your Mother
I am barely even to mouth a silent “I love you” to my brother. I know the pain he must be feeling, but my own pain is blinding. I cannot bear to see the extent to which you’ve ruined it all. His jokes make light of it, but all I can feel is the heavy press of the heat from the vents. But the room is cooling down again.
Just a moment before he was dead-silent, caught in the crossfire of what some call a broken household.
I never knew, before this, the pain that others had felt. I once saw my friend crying over her parent’s and thought to myself why is she so upset? Can’t she suck it up? Now I know, and I wish I didn’t.
Somehow I think that I’m worse off than her. There’s that generalization of divorce, but what about the subgeneras of that pain? I don’t really know if I’m better or worse off. Am even I special, or is this normal? Once, I wasn’t special because my parents weren’t divorced, then now that it has happened, there are so many others that are divorced too.
I was special before and now I’m just an object of pity. Something people like me used to wish for: something to give them life experience, to make them jaded and scared and attractive. I used to want that. It was cool. To read about damaged people who are saved by their true love 10 years in the future. But what if that doesn’t happen?
I could be left all alone like everyone seems to be in real life. What if it’s not like Marshall and Lily? What if they don’t even exist? At least when my parents weren’t divorced I wasn’t so doubtful. I was always speculative, but now… now I feel afraid for the future. And I’ve already spent so much time being afraid.
Afraid of the dark, of talking to strangers, even of automatic toilets. It seems as if half of my life is just fear and apprehension. I want to know something for once, and be confident in it. I want to be able to say: I know that Marshall and Lilly exist somewhere. I know that, if I really think about it, the dark isn’t all that bad and strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.
I guess it doesn’t really help that all of my other romantic conquests haven’t ended so well either. High school’s just awkward I guess. Nothing I can do about that. And if I accepted cheezy sayings I would say: “Time will tell,” possibly in a Morgan Freedman-esque voice.
*Marshall and Lilly from How I Met Your Mother
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