Maybe it was the way my grandfather never showed up to my mothers wedding, or the way her dark brown eyes pierced holes through my dainty skin the evening my father's weak body poked through the corner of the hall.
Maybe it was the way that he fell and woke up the next morning with a huge, blackened bruise on the middle of his forehead, and no pride or dignity whatsoever.
Perhaps it was the way in which I stood, face covered, peeking through the seeps, wanting to watch the scene unfold, unsure of what was yet to come.
From that day on, I watched everything crash and burn and end in a wreck like an overly heated piece of toast that slowly turns into crumbs, ruining a potentially perfect meal.
And maybe that was why when you came into my life I covered my face, with my shaking hands, unsure of what was yet to come. I watched you, patiently waiting for you to slam the door in my face, to wreck my life, to shatter me whole. I Waited and waited because after all, that was what i was used to. I was used to tragedy and you were one. You left me shattered and bruised and in a state I had never been before.
