The second time I broke my heart was when the picture perfect charade of miserable facades shattered to pieces. Like a framed picture engraved with splintered glass.
Because all I could hear was
screaming, yelling, shrieking
And crying, sobbing, tears streaming,
Sore throats, hoarse voices
And everything was messy
And everything was b l u r r y
Because all I could feel was hatred and loathe and despise and hurtful words meant to hurt a fragile heart
And he raised his hand
And hit her
And sobs wrecked her body
And I stood helpless, unable to do anything but see and feel and hear the pain the tears the broken promises of wedding rings the feeling of his hand and the feeling of her cheek, and red, red, red. Red prints on skin. Red pain. Red stinging. Red.
And broken hearts lay shattered on the floor, his, hers, mine, futile pieces broken and hurt and unfixable
And there was a father
Who
Hit a mother.
And a child who saw and felt and hurt but
couldn't couldn't couldn't
emit
a single word.
I'm sorry.
