Tuesday, April 24, 2012


Just a house. Painted with a fractured heart and old memories.
Walls laced with outdated figurines and and the smell of smoke from a daughter downstairs who can't kick a habit. Everything is either seriously tinted by the sun or excessively outdated. I'm just going to go ahead and assume it's the latter, considering the lack of sun we get in this place. There's family pictures and seniors olympic medals and flowers for siblings that have all been outlived.
And now there's only words lefts. It's only moments and memories, and the mind confuses the past and the present. They're here, but not really here: the wife, the stories, the farm. There's only words. And those might not even be doing justice.

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