Family is meaningless.
I don't remember the exact day I came to that conclusion. All I know is that my family gave me every reason to.
I can barely remember faces or places from when I was younger. Most of my childhood feels buried beneath something I can't explain.
My father always claimed he was protecting us, but the more I listened to him, the more I realized he was hiding something.
He gave me an obsession: to uncover whatever he buried.
I have no recollection of my mother, yet somehow her absence feels responsible for the tension in our family.
It's strange.
Despite my claims, I feel attached to someone I barely know.
Maybe nobody can truly claim complete emotional detachment.
Regardless, I stand by what I say.
Family is meaningless.
Sometimes I wonder…
Will I still believe that, after the rest of them disappear?