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I recently realized that my parents got married
during the week of the year that holds the record for highest
rates of suicide and depression.

Isn’t that lovely?

Romantic?

Intriguing?

How often is a foreshadow supposed to fly over your head?

They got married that week to cure their desperation –they eloped. Therefore,
my life was fixed; I was born into fear, naivety
I was raised by two children who never grew up because they were raised by
children too
and never got to feel mature love
affection
attention
even when it wasn’t deserved

They needed each other;
they were still at the stage where they had to hold hands to
cross the road
because they were too afraid of losing control of each other

(Maybe that’s why I’m still sitting here on a curb
waiting for someone who is never coming to get me)

…I think about how my Ma text me today saying she was
in a ‘grumpy mood’
and couldn’t grasp a clue as to why. I staple the facts
that they separated a year and a half ago and their 23rd anniversary
is technically this week to a memo-memory
and put it in the
“Re: the worst week of the year” files of my mind

I come across about a hundred more weeks living at home 
tucked into the folder…
It’s sad to see they missed the clues

It’s sad to see I miss them too, together
And now

Never again.
 
               Even if it’s for the better
it’s still the ‘Never’ that taunts you.

Everyone wants their parents to be the ones to prove
that people in this world
can keep a promise

Because when your parents get a divorce

                                you start to believe

that there’s a possibility
somebody could stop loving you.

Britta B.

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