Her voice slices through the air and quivers throughout the house. His voice vociferates back and quakes the ground. Suddenly, it is replaced by an eerie silence. When did communication cease to be a necessity? I’ve given up seeking to mend the cavernous hole filled with misery and resentment. Homes are meant to illustrate warm, fuzzy feelings. They are supposed to be lively movie nights and comfortable family dinners, but when did all of that warp into uncomfortable silence? The levels of this house serve as dividers where we can all hide from each other. I attempt to dissolve into my bedroom walls. He occupies himself in his work. Prolonged drives have become habitual to escape reality for her. When did suppressed cries and eating in solitary become part of my daily routine? The worst thing about caves is the way it seems to continue on infinitely with no hope of light.