I remember how very much, over years, I used to look forward to visiting your home….admiring….the ribald paintings on the walls….fascinated…..by the splash of gory colors and poignant dew….envy…..the harmony of your apparent being ….surreptitiously……always wanting to be part of this picture perfect tale….all the time…secretly wishing I was an integral part of you.
Yesterday, when I walked in…..I could not help notice the how decrepit the walls had come….tears of rain water running through the cracks….how cracked up the color in the canvas’ had become…the discordant notes chaffing at the old wooden doors…..the slight bit of edginess in the air that the wind was spewing…..the house seemed to have lost its soul….you seemed old and haggled…..I looked at you, and was almost happy that you were
“you” and not “us”…..the silent song seemed to be losing its clammy charm.
As I exited, and took the long walk back home, alone, could not help not correlate how my view of your house, seemed to meld in so and our dangle dangerously with own little downhill story.
Did Jack and Jill every really go up this hill?
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment