S’s Note: Just lovely.
i was never a fan of chocolate bars or birthday cake. my mouth was never stained by spaghetti sauce. i went to bed before mother nagged me to. and because i was such a self sufficient six year old, i was left, at most times, alone. it wasn’t long before they began to depend on me for more than household chores. i swallowed adult emotions of anguish and bitterness toward a spouse i didn’t have while fearing the loss of a job i hadn’t held. car rides became cold as i sat between them flossing my teeth with their tension. from the train station to school i felt the rumble of my father’s departure and the nature of my mother’s frustration with a man who couldn’t smile. and so father eventually stopped proofreading my essays. mother stopped cooking us dinner. i am now eighteen and my heart feels a hundred and four years old. i lose more and more sleep each night and i can feel my breath slacking on certain days that cry in pain. i wish i would have cried more when i was six. i wish i would have stayed up late and tiptoed around her room. i wish he would have yelled at me then like he does now. i’ve forgotten what it was like. i’ve been an adult for far too long.