When I finally come back home, it's late. I stayed longer at my brother's house than I planned we had lots and lots to discuss, I lowkey missed them and didn't want leave them. I kept telling myself I would leave after the next conversation, after the next question, after the next moment of silence that felt too loaded to interrupt. Somehow, hours slipped through my fingers without me noticing
By the time I step out of the car, my body feels worn down to the bone. My head aches in that dull way that comes from crying back tears for too long. The house stands in front of me, tall and clean and cold, all glass and sharp lines, looking exactly the way it always does. Nothing about it hints at the mess sitting in my chest.
I unlock the door and step inside, locking it behind me out of habit.
I kick off my shoes and leave them where they land. My feet are sore, my legs feel weak, and all I want is to just lay down in bed somewhere dark and quiet and sleep.
