That house, worn down by sun and salt rain, was doomed. In a few years,
it would be a hollow replacement, gone from our stale grown-up brains.
But tonight candles would burn bright in our heads and
light would paint across the beautiful walls peeling with old memories:
hiding places for little children in big bodies.
There was no reason to be loud, no more void to fill,
we just stood and looked at our reflections in the window:
They were far, far brighter than we were.
The cardigan that my grandma wraps me in when I am cold.;
Dusty piles of cards from someone who loves me;
Computer overheating with a two-thousand-million-word PDF scrapbook;
When I was a little younger than I am now,
I went home after school and wrote until bedtime.
That was enough to take me into the stratosphere.
I'd play in the cloud for hours and hours.
I will tell you what I remember from high school, and I will tell you how you can follow in my sinful and lowly footsteps, that your blood might be as holy as mine.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.