...

my son came back from a good weekend with his dad and his girlfriend. except he came reporting about their moving from the girlfriend's apartment into his new apartment. he said to me something about papa's apartment and then added "and she is going to be living there too, they're the happy couple." and then i noticed he had paint in his hair; he said the three of them had been painting their new apartment. it's always the smallest things that come and pull the air out of the room, just like that, and flood the room with a sadness you swore you had run out of ll the way. but you find there's more leftover. and on the tail of the sadness invading, come its million questions, fundamental ones that seem to shake your bones. and ridiculous ones like, "after my ten years how is this family painting new apartment scene happening without me?".
but still, i know this is just an emotion that has to come and go, and not reality. reality is, I don't fucking give a fuck because I want better than that.