Fear

I hate the sound of you fighting; I wish it was on the television instead so I could turn it off, or even at least turn the volume down. Your words, although not directed at me, hurts so bad. I fear quietly that someday you might leave and the permanent scars you would leave behind. Even if you stay, I wonder if things would stay the same. I get so indignant having to bear with your unreasonable outburst of anger. Undoubtedly, at times, I admit, I am to blame, but why do you channel all your negativeness at us?

I turn on the music in a desperate attempt to drown you out, but nothing can silence the sound of your irascibility. I'm scared. I'm sorry. I really am.