A Shattered Home, A Silent Storm
The walls of his house had never been a home. Not in the way he wished they were. They stood tall, unwavering, yet inside, the air felt heavy—thick with words left unsaid, wounds left unhealed. He had long stopped expecting warmth from them. Home was where his parents resided, but it was not where peace lived.
At fourteen, Aidan had already learned that silence was safer than words. Arguments echoed through the house like a never-ending symphony of blame, accusations, and bitter history. His mother and father had become strangers who shared a roof, their interactions laced with resentment. Aidan, in the middle of it all, had learned to make himself invisible.
He focused on his studies, throwing himself into books and equations. Numbers were predictable. They didn’t change overnight, didn’t hurt him the way people did. He kept his head down, his emotions locked away where they couldn’t betray him. Indifference was his armor. If he didn’t feel, he couldn’t break.
But there was one thing that managed to seep through the cracks—music. Late at night, when the house settled into uneasy silence, he would slip in his headphones, drowning out the world with melodies that spoke the words he couldn’t. The soft strumming of a guitar, the gentle hum of a piano—it was the only place he felt safe, the only place where he didn’t have to pretend.
He had taught himself to survive, to function, to carry on without letting the chaos consume him. But the question lingered in his mind, one he never dared to voice:
Was he truly strong, or had he simply mastered the art of feeling nothing?
___________________________________________
Have you ever mistaken emotional detachment for strength?
Chapter 2: Click here
The walls of his house had never been a home. Not in the way he wished they were. They stood tall, unwavering, yet inside, the air felt heavy—thick with words left unsaid, wounds left unhealed. He had long stopped expecting warmth from them. Home was where his parents resided, but it was not where peace lived.
At fourteen, Aidan had already learned that silence was safer than words. Arguments echoed through the house like a never-ending symphony of blame, accusations, and bitter history. His mother and father had become strangers who shared a roof, their interactions laced with resentment. Aidan, in the middle of it all, had learned to make himself invisible.
He focused on his studies, throwing himself into books and equations. Numbers were predictable. They didn’t change overnight, didn’t hurt him the way people did. He kept his head down, his emotions locked away where they couldn’t betray him. Indifference was his armor. If he didn’t feel, he couldn’t break.
But there was one thing that managed to seep through the cracks—music. Late at night, when the house settled into uneasy silence, he would slip in his headphones, drowning out the world with melodies that spoke the words he couldn’t. The soft strumming of a guitar, the gentle hum of a piano—it was the only place he felt safe, the only place where he didn’t have to pretend.
He had taught himself to survive, to function, to carry on without letting the chaos consume him. But the question lingered in his mind, one he never dared to voice:
Was he truly strong, or had he simply mastered the art of feeling nothing?
___________________________________________
Have you ever mistaken emotional detachment for strength?
Chapter 2: Click here
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