They haven't fought in years. They haven't had such high decibel arguments since I was in Elementary if I can recall. Maybe not that long ago, but the last one I can remember, I listened to them until the darkest hours of the night, fighting about the things I can't recall now.
I remember they sat in the dining room and went about their arguments as if we weren't asleep upstairs. Nothing ever became physical but the fight would rise and fall just as their voices had. I remember hoping that the next day would be alright. But of course, I imagined then my life being slashed down in the middle. A divorce, I thought. Within the next days after, I had forgotten about it, and so did we all. And ever since then, nothing had been as bad.
But now I'm sitting in my room again, listening to their seemingly endless argument, typing this out as if I'm writing on one of my flowery and pretty decorated journals that I would record everything in the darkness of my room on my twin-sized bed. Except this isn't my flowery and pretty decorated little journal. This bed I'm on isn't twin-sized. And I am now far away from my elementary days. And I know everything is going to be alright... because it always ends up being alright. But sometimes it's just so appropriately twisted for me to think of the worse case scenarios.
9 isn't 19 anymore. And this is a sad reminiscence.
I remember they sat in the dining room and went about their arguments as if we weren't asleep upstairs. Nothing ever became physical but the fight would rise and fall just as their voices had. I remember hoping that the next day would be alright. But of course, I imagined then my life being slashed down in the middle. A divorce, I thought. Within the next days after, I had forgotten about it, and so did we all. And ever since then, nothing had been as bad.
But now I'm sitting in my room again, listening to their seemingly endless argument, typing this out as if I'm writing on one of my flowery and pretty decorated journals that I would record everything in the darkness of my room on my twin-sized bed. Except this isn't my flowery and pretty decorated little journal. This bed I'm on isn't twin-sized. And I am now far away from my elementary days. And I know everything is going to be alright... because it always ends up being alright. But sometimes it's just so appropriately twisted for me to think of the worse case scenarios.
9 isn't 19 anymore. And this is a sad reminiscence.
