The man stays home, day to day, watching serials after serials, newspapers after newspapers, catching reality shows that his children have never heard of. He knows every single piece of news in the papers, every single piece of gossip that no one else truly cares about.
The wife heads out for work, before the sun rises, before any single member of the family rises, only to return home after dark, unknowingly falling asleep within minutes.
This happens day after day, month after month, has it been years? With reality blurred and foggy, what stands true remains hidden.
A sick sense of disappointment washes over like a gigantic tsunami wave. Is there a reason to stay in, to see all these, to be reminded of the reality, or do against will, only to return after all is calm, a bare hint of what it should be, quiet and welcoming?
When was the last time you've seen him walking through that door, at the same time everyone else's should? No intentions to snide, just questions and doubts of what should all be. Years ago, that's the answer, with only an inkling of how heartwarming that felt.
There's only so much she can do. That's all.
In this world i call my own,contentment, self-belief, i make my thoughts known.
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