6:05 p.m. - 2005-05-19
In a clearing. Mourning in the morning.
Fingertips dragging across the wall- straining to keep in touch. This house is an island. The walls are invisible because we're too close already. We don't need to cover the distance here. The sun is always warmer here and laughter is always contagious. We learn to share. That old house knows all of my secrets, my hiding places, my favorite foods, and every last syllable I whisper to hopelessly hopeful ears. This is my music. Clasping together. Sinking into background. I almost don't want this is happen. When you let go, my world will crumble. I'm so used to starting over, though. Mother tries to buy me new shoes- essentially- a new perspective for my feet, but they just don't match anything I own. I'm told to just start over. Simply. Start again. Put on my new shoes and buy a new world to match. I don't understand. My matches always start fires.
Bursting into flames.
