Monday, May 21, 2012


We lived in a glass house with rotting wooden frames.
I saw the sun everywhere
so distracted that I couldnt see that you were trapped within another room, wondering how to reach me.
The rot spread, buckling the wood, and everything started to crash and collapse.
You wanted to warn me but I was too dazzled by the all encompassing light to hear you yell my name.
I had gotten so used to your cajoling, soft footfalls and low voice that lightly vibrated across the glass panes.
You crashed through my glass fortress and pulled me out as it all rained down, shattering the sun into thousands of razors.
I cried at the pain, too distracted by it and my loss to realize you saved me.
You walked away.

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