I think I woke up wrong this morning. Perhaps not wrong, but strange, at least.

I'm a bit sick, head still woozy, and in that haziness of half waking, I heard a man yelling. A voice from the street, but it threw me back for a split second, to when I would wake up to my dad yelling for, at, the maid, my grandmother, or... If you didn't wake up and get yourself out of the house before ten, eleven o'clock, that's what you would wake up to. Anger.

In a moment much too like panic, all my senses told me I was back there. Before I could really open my eyes and steady myself. It jolted me.

I don't remember my dad yelling so much now, when I stay with him in his new apartment. I don't know if it's because they aren't forced to be in the same house any more, to occupy the same space. Or maybe his apartment is too small to warrant yelling at that kind of volume to span the space from one end of it to the other.

Sometimes, I don't think it's always worth it to hold together.

Sometimes, it's better to let go.