I feel like I'm breathing in cold, thick, black air. It creeps through my blood and finds its way into my heart, clouds it up slowly suffocates it.
That's how it is, I guess, when the person who gave you life starts taking it away a little at a time. On the surface things carry on as if nothing is wrong, but beneath it is a palpable silence. Everyone's unspoken thoughts about recent events simmer just below the thin glassy surface. The agony is in the waiting when all of this will break.
It hurts, especially since I was expecting everyone would be happy about the wonderful turn of events in my life. Instead, there is an awkward peace. Someone will be holding back just when another is ready to let go, and neither will give in to the other.
When will we be ready? When will love and trust and peace and compassion be ours again? When will we start being a family again? I don't want to wake up again tomorrow and see a cardboard version of the home I used to know. I don't want to plant a made-up kiss and give a half-hearted greeting of hello or goodbye to someone who doesn't want to communicate with me.
In fact I don't want to go back "home". It's not what it is anymore. And I don't know if it will ever be home again.
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