​Just a few things that I have written in fragments

I have been wanting to share these for a while but they’re so personal that I can’t share them with anyone that I know. So, I thought why not share them with strangers!? (Sorry that they are pretty redundant) ——————

My love for my father feels like a betrayal to my mother. When she told me what he did, I felt anger. When she told me that she was done, I felt fear.

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I wish my brother had stayed. I wish that I wasn’t the one left to deal with the fallout.

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I remember sitting on the floor, the scratchy carpet digging into fresh scrapes on my knees; so different from when he had kissed it better. I remember sitting on the carpet, begging him to not take the gun with him.

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My father’s anger is no longer explosive, no longer the gas tank it was, ready to blow at the faintest spark. Now, it is the quiet set of his jaw and the not-so-subtle tension behind his eyebrows. The clipped and short tone in his voice which speaks to the control that he has somehow gained. Despite the fact that it has been years since he has put his fist through drywall, I still remember the holes that are the same size as the hands that swat at me when I playfully poke him. His yelling does not shake the picture frames anymore, but I still brace for the earthquake. He is not a gas tank anymore, but I still have dreams of him lighting the house on fire while everyone is sleeping.