Yeah, GREAT, she’s writing again… Apologies ahead of time.
There’s an echo in your walls; an imprint of color, a vast display of wear and tear. At first glance it seems it’s structure holds, but you’re flimsy at best.
You’ll soon enough throw on a new layer of that wine-tinted acrylic paint; put up your proudest images, neatly aligned in symmetrical frames. But I’ll still see the damage, masking remorse, despite your best front.
I walk your halls, slowly. Taking in every detail. Pinning it to memory. A maze of tarnished, bitter keepsakes sing to me to keep them safe, to bring about a day of cleanse and repair. But I don’t have the will, or wish, to do so.
If anything I’m slowly gaining the will to shake off the presence of understanding, to locate the back door to this man-made Hell, and burn it to the ground.