Drabble #77 – Fathoms
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I know what it’s like to come home to everything being
scattered and smashed, floor dirty with the heavy, invasive
tread of strangers. It’s like the inside of my own head.
The man who came to see me afterwards mentioned a lot about the
pain, the grief, the wanting to blame someone and rage against
the unfairness of it all. But what the man hadn’t
mentioned was how I suddenly feel like I’m in on the
joke. It’s hard to be the comic relief when no one wants
to laugh at you anymore. And, god, isn’t that some
game-changing irony. But that conversation’s already
spoken for. It’s done, even if no one wants it to be.
They all want to keep bringing it up, want some kind of
conclusion, want everything to be okay, if I can just talk it
out. But we all want a bunch of things we can’t have, and
sometimes being okay isn’t what someone needs. They want
a reason, a perpetrator, a motive, and more often than not you
don’t get that. You just get a broken home; glass to
clean up, furniture to replace, new memories to
make.
5 faves · Oct 21, 2015 5:51pm