Ironically,
The song I was listening to just a few minutes before it happened was called
This Was a Home Once.
That fact is salt in an already painful wound, because
In the years
leading up to it I was
alone
But at least I had a stable home
To go back to. Not anymore.
Since it happened, I've been told things like:
"You must have seen it coming,"
"Is it really that big a surprise?"
But I didn't, and it was, because I had been
far away
Sperate from the family
I wasn't around to see the warning signs.
So I was
BLINDSIDED
When they said the word divorce,
sorry... Separation.
Because there's a difference
Even though there isn't
Except maybe the paperwork.
It's not supposed to happen to me at eighteen.
It's not supposed to happen to me at all.
The words:
Still friends, still home, still the most important thing in our lives,
Don't change the fact that my identity has taken a blow.
And my sense of home has been shattered.
And now I have the need to fill every empty space
In every conversation
with nice words because I don't want people
thinking about it,
or me.
YOU ARE READING
Spiked Coffee
PoetryA collection of short stories, musings, and poetry. For poetic souls and those who like to analyze stories.
