YOU’RE CRUMBLING.
You’re doing that thing that everyone anticipates, where you distance yourself from everyone in means of getting attention, then shut down when someone talks to you. Like when you’re daughter gets into a college with only a 66% admittance rate or when your son gets an A on a geometry test when he’s been struggling with math his whole education. Who do you think will look to you? The one person you want it from is far fucking away, and isn’t coming back. Remember when my heart broke from breaking someone else’s heart, and I didn’t smile for a month, and I didn’t want to leave the house, and I felt like a ghost because I wanted to be a ghost, and you told me to suck it up because life will go on and I will find someone better? Well you may have been right, but you’re a fucking hypocrite. Fresh and blood definition, mother.
The daffodils are dying, mom.
The milk is spoiled, mom.
Your headlights are still on, mom.
Sailor hasn’t been out all day, mom.
Mom mom mom mom. That’s the fucking ticket, Charlie. Check that shit out. That’s what you are to us, in case you’ve forgotten. In case it’s slipped into the deep end of your self-indulgence. Just in case you remember that there are other people around you who depend on you still, at least your son does. And boy, you even fucking underestimate him. You underestimate us all, and I guess we underestimated you when we thought you could be bigger than this.

You’re crumbling, and it makes me sick.

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