After a tiring day, I hope I don't come home to an angry man, one whose temper dictates the atmosphere of the house, whose silence leaves everyone holding their breath, scared to make a move or rush back to their rooms to avoid being yelled at. A man who believes himself superior because he breaks things and can't control his anger, a man unmoved by the tears in my eyes, a man who sees nothing wrong with his actions yet complains about being alone, he demands respect yet shows none in return. His anger is a storm that ravages the home, he claims to love, but it's a love that bruises, that suffocates, that slowly erases the light from the eyes of those who live with him. And still, he wonders why the house feels empty, why the love he craves seems to slip further away with every shattered vase, every raised voice, every silent, suffocating night.
-vesper
