“We haven’t done anything in awhile.”
“You mean things together? Us?”
“Yeah.”
My 8 year old brother saying this to me as we tracked Santa on the NORAD tracker online + a glass of wine = trying not to cry now that he’s in bed and I think about the day I finally move out and we both discover what it’s like when we really haven’t done anything in awhile.
Despite everything that really bums me out about this house and the family dynamics that fester within, the day I stop living with my kid brother and my nephew is going to be very, very sad.
I wish I could take them with me. Just the three of us living in a house without all of this familial anger and disappointment that grows like the mold within the walls of this very house, that manipulates our relationships like the water damage manipulates the wooden window sills.
What horribly written, cheesy metaphors. But it’s hard not to notice your family falling apart while the mold situation grows out of hand and not draw imaginary connections that feel so real you start to believe them.
I love Christmas, because Santa still exists in this house. There is nothing like a Christmas surrounded by kids who still believe.
