Footsteps

I hear footsteps on the stairs, my heart skips a start. Is it him? I cringe about myself with the fear of being him. I am waiting, just looking at the door and trying to listen to your door key in the lock. Someone passes on my door and continues. I Sigh.

I go to the bathroom to clean my face. The mirror gives me back the image of a battered face, full of black spots. I do not get out of my home, either for fear or shame of someone seen me like that. Defeated, battered. I remember when I was younger, the life force that had, I miss that time, it was without fear, with no surprises, everything was simple. But now all of that is over, and I know that my every day is like this.

Everything has to be impeccable, and when you get home everything has to be clean and  the dinner was to be on the table. He eats while I stand by his side looking at him. After eating he strolls around the house looking for a mistake that you made. After I know, the anger comes, either you got everything right or wrong. It's always the same thing, a day of terror, then come the excuses, the requests for forgiveness. But fear is always present.

I hear the damn key that sentences me to one more dark night and promise myself I will not cry, this time I will not

.