in the in betweens,
when i'm not crying,
and he's not mad,
there is quiet.
i don't know if the quiet is better or worse.
the quiet is not harsh words digging into my skin.
the quiet is a smothering blanket.
the quiet is not sobs ripping through my shaking form.
the quiet is laying in bed until 2 A.M. staring at the ceiling.
i don't know if i hate or love the quiet.
