This is so painfully familiar.
They're fighting. Just fighting. Not about me, just fighting. But it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My stomach starts to churn and twist. Uneasy and anxious about life and truth and the concept of love. What it is to be and what it means to be. Everything chaotic and whirling out of orbit. Colliding and burning. They're fighting and nothing makes sense. Everything is breakable and frail. Tip toe. Quiet. They're fighting.