Its a quiet sunday and im stuck at home. My house is filled with a scary type of silence that usually doesnt come about. My dads out somewhere and mums cooking lunch at this hour...(2pm) yep.
She's not talking and neither is he. Whats wrong i ask? but no one replies. Im scared because i rather hear some shouting then allow silence to fill the house.
And finally i realize that we're at the last stage of a freakishly familiar continuous dreadful cycle.
He comes back, things are great... untill he's just about to go back... something will happen... usually a fight... the only variable in this cycle is "with whom?" he'll have a fight with.
Maybe its just part of him that feels the need to let out his frustrations all in one shot.
Or maybe its just the thought of having to go away that leaves him in a bad irritable mood.
I need some fresh air. I need to study but i cant concentrate. I'm famished but i'm about to loose my appetite.
To me this is only a house not a home. Its made of wood and concrete and all sorts of material. It has a shelter under which i have a comfortable place to sleep. But sometimes i wonder if thats all it is. A house.