Everything was so messy.
Words, that once seem articulated and proper now sound broken and repetitive. Sitting at the table the conversation was obviously cracked down the middle.
On one side sat me, being chipped at and grounded down into dust and on the other sat my father with the grinder.
Simplicity was no longer there and in its place a mess. I wonder if the conversation could be clean again without all the stupidity coming from his side of the crack.