Frail hands brittle eyes. We see through a foggy veil. The ocean breeze tickles our stomach, wet sand churns our nose.
The days drag by and I long to see the yellow, green, and purple painting my way home. Feel the sun bounce off the lake and onto my skin. I hear your soft call beckoning me across the miles of empty land.
No sunlight will speckle your cheeks, no wind will ruffle your hair. You did not deserve me; did not deserve the end.
That odd stone and wood house hid behind a tree line, it was my childhood home. My castle was surrounded by a forest filled with dragons, and vines snaked their way to my window.
Let’s start at the very beginning,
a very good place to start:
What do you see you people staring at me?
In my own little corner in my own little room I know I mustn’t fall into the pit.
Strapped to the top of the bus, Sue’s hair flaps like a loose strap clamping down a luggage carrier on the highway. Her voice, a high pitch shriek echoing in the wind.
The darkness that overpowers the sun creeps into my mind like oil mixing with water.
That house had a soul of its own and was filled with memories. I was so ingrained in this house and it was so ingrained in me that no matter how old I get I will never forget that sense of acceptance and safety I had when I was at my grandparents’ house.
Time hovers by with little to clasp between its silvery veins, pushes past the flocks of busy bees in desperate need of a turtle paced day.