Home

You didn't give me shelter. 
You gave me a cage.

You gave me whitewashed walls and
called it a home as I walked warily
on eggshells.
Yet I learned to crave the quiet.
I preferred to live in silence versus
hearing one of them crack.

The sound of them shattering
was somehow as loud as your palm
against my face.

The Hedge

It's getting harder to notice where you hit the hedge with your car. 

It took a few years, but it's branches are beginning to burst and bloom.
It's sharp pine needles finally flourishing and filling in the gaps that your hood had left.

Now even the scarred foliage seems to be smirking at what you did.

It's triumph much more than just another act of nature.

Picture

One of the best pictures I've ever taken is one I struggle to look at. 
At one point I even framed it, but I had to take it down.

It was more than just an image.
It was a melancholy memory that I mistakingly forced between wood and glass.

It was a moment in time that should always remain just that. Nothing more, nothing less.