(no subject)
You know, my house feels like a volcano. Heat and noise and anger simmers just below the surface; the shimmering waves that blur your vision do not warm you, no, they leave you cold and hugging yourself. We are worried people, striving for a moments grace. We search for the pockets of happiness and try not to be in the way when an eruption occurs. When it does happen, when the voices are violent, everyone's confused and defensive. No one knows how they got here, and so, they find things to blame. Anger towards one spills over the edges and burns the others, leaving charred remains. You would think that they would break, the ties that wrap us, but it's love, and that is a difficult thing to scorch.