Updated: Mar 26
I pour my heart into this foundation,
cementing it into the world.
I lay my life down,
love by love and loss by loss.
Sooner or later, there’s a house.
A small house, compact and perfect for just me.
It has four walls and a roof.
Is it a house? A house it is!
As time passes, I realize that I had forgotten windows.
Nobody can see in, and I can’t see out.
But what’s the purpose of a window anyway?
Light is everywhere; lock the doors and go on with your life.
One day, I walked through this little house of mine.
I dragged my feet through my small residence,
marking the hardwood floors.
But my house is no place for a pair of dirty trainers or scuffed planks.
I swing open a cabinet door,
scrambling through the mess bolted to my walls.
I reach for something as the lights go out,
darkness infusing the vicinity.
I reach to open the door,
searching for the rusty handle with my fingers.
I push down, aiming to swing the plank open,
but the door stays in place,
refusing to budge.
I channel my focus into escaping,
seeking whatever is outside these four walls