When I was 13 years old I lived with both of my grandparents after my parents got divorced. I was very upset at God, life, my parents about my new life although I kept my feelings to myself... only at night, lonely in a room my grandma prepared for me I let my rage out.
I cried till sunrise praying to God in between that he granted me one more time, one more chance to go back when my family lived together. When my sis and I shared a room full of laughters, jokes and memorable moments together. Fighting over space and admiring her putting makeup on from the mirror. Playing with my brother hide and seek in our house or making a house made out of my moms old sheets and boxes in the 4th floor. The most I prayed for was seeing my father smile to my mom one more time or check us at midnight like he used to do to make sure we were sleeping and safe.
When I was 13 I hoped, cried and prayed unitl I resigned to my reality. One I had not choosen or wanted. One I had no control over.
