As if I was committing a crime or not, I was babbling.
A few months later, our fights became more noisy, more brutal. That house was coming over both of us now. In a way, we were getting away every chance we had.
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After a few months, our fights began to make us sick. An important part of our daily lives were saddened, crying, being angry, drunk, pouting.
Things have come to a point where we can never guess. One day after a crisis that lasted almost a year, I realized that I didn't care about pain, pain, pain. I didn't care about her pain anymore. There was no room for either of us. I'm here two more days, then I'm gone. I said we're getting divorced.
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We didn't get divorced the next day. But after a while, I was studying the same bed in the same bed. This time all the cupboard doors were open, everything was everywhere, gathering. Beautiful curtains had been descended, simple blinds were left in the window. I said it was. Months ago I remembered that strange escape. I remember when the idea of divorce was embarrassing.
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