.childhood thingy

I don’t remember much about my childhood, but the fights are etched in my mind like scars. Mom and Dad arguing, voices raised, anger spilling over. It was a constant backdrop, a heavy presence that made even the brightest days feel gray. I recall one particular night, slipping into my older brother’s room while they were at it again. He was watching some show, completely absorbed in it, and for a moment, it was like stepping into another world—one where everything was colorful and alive. The show distracted me, pulled me away from the chaos. I grew to love it, the characters, the storylines. But now, every time I see it or hear someone mention it, I feel a twinge of sadness. It reminds me of that fight, the tension that hung in the air. It’s bittersweet—something that once provided comfort now carries a weight of nostalgia that’s hard to shake off. I can’t help but think about how I found solace in something that was born from my pain, and how it always brings me back to a time I wish I could forget.

xokilljoy.stel

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