Memories are poison
A typical night used to be my mom yelling at my Abuela; their odd, hispanic way of discussing if one Mexican soap opera was better than the other one. My dad would come home late and sit down in his relax chair to watch the late night news. He’d ignore the Spanish babbling. I’d be bored out of my mind, texting on my phone or playing games on my laptop to keep myself busy.
I wish I was there, now. I wish my life was boring again.