03 AT THE MORNING

At three in the morning, love is not beautiful. I hear rain hammering the windows, doors slamming and careless words cutting deeper than either of us admits. MADLYNN tears through the silence with wounded fire, and I answer with honesty heavy enough to bruise. We threaten to walk away, yet neither of us knows how to exist alone. Beneath every argument waits the truth we fear most: home is not a place. Home is the soul that remains when all anger is gone. We stay, even when it hurts most. - DEAD