It took me many years to fully understand that it never takes an earth-shattering collapse to destroy a home. It is a silent festering, a constant consumption day and night, and a heart that is slowly growing cold between bones and flesh. It's like the moisture that can't be hidden in the walls of an old house. During the day, it looks clean and complete, with fireworks as usual, but late at night it spreads along the gaps, hollowing out the wall inch by inch, eroding the warmth and wearing away the light. By the time outsiders see the dilapidation and desolation, the inside has long been rotten to the core and can never be repaired.
Purpose: family