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Of course, Dad had thought that was the funniest thing in the world. Thank god for cancer.
He keeps smacking his lips together. It sounds disgusting. Like something from a swamp discovering life.
The moment I got home this evening, it felt like he was begging for a fight, it didn’t matter with who—anybody would do, as long as they could bleed, as long as they could break.
Maybe that’s what all relationships are like. Maybe nobody actually loves each other. They just argue and fight and have babies and scream and break things and eventually everybody dies. The outcome will always be the same, no matter what anybody tries to do. Everybody dies. The end.
Our existence has been a burden on not only them but also ourselves since day one in the womb.
