And It Only Gets Louder

It gets louder and louder—the pain, I mean.

I wonder: how?

How can it be possible for a physical sensation to get louder with every second that passes?

I don’t know. But it just keeps getting louder.

Every scream and profanity just keeps getting louder.

The toxic masculinity that rolls off his tongue continuously stabs my poor heart and damages the loving memories that I had of him.

She can only respond with a soft, almost broken “lower your voice.”

The pain resonates throughout the entire house and as much as I’d like to cancel it out with my bedroom doors that usually keep all bad things away, it just gets louder and louder.

And then the noise stops—so does my heart.

And then it picks up again.

They’re still talking; I’m still unwillingly listening.

I just want it to end.

Money is never good.

Adulthood is never good.

I just want to get out and scream back at them, but what would that do? I’m just a child after all.

What do I even know?

Why did I have to grow up so suddenly?

And then it stops again.

This time it’s definite, right?

No.

I keep thinking of my childhood.

Was it always like this?

Am I okay?

At this point, I’m not sure.

The pain just keeps getting louder and louder.

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