I cannot hide here any longer.
- 1 year ago
- 1 year ago
There’s an old house on that lonely suburban street where I grew up, but no one ever lived there. Five people in an empty house; five people in a black hole.I can recall the night of my own super nova; the night I tried to drink myself to death. I can still see myself lying in that gutter dancing my morbid dance. I remember being afraid to stop shaking. I remember the shame I felt when I saw the bruises I had put on the person I loved most. I remember not being able to look at my brother for months.
I remember an old house on that lonely suburban street where I grew up, but I never lived there. A street, filled with kids, in stark contrast with my emptiness. Ileft something there, hidden in that old house. There are times when I want to return, to see my secret, to see the familiar trees and familiar faces, but what I left I am better without.
There’s a red house in the mountains where I go to thaw. As I melt among the trees, I remember there was someone I left, out in the fields turned blue by the night sky, in the rose garden, alive with flower’s bloom. I did not understood the beauty of a rose until I held the pruning shears. When it became clear - the threat of a wilted bloom - I saw beauty deep among the decay. Hidden within the gloom, among the brambles, it sat; a splash of color, rosy breath of the divine. When I began my executioner’s work it was beauty, only, that survived.
And when night fell on that red house, the darkness did not inspire fear. It was a blanket that fell over us, peacefulness atop peacefulness. What a lovely song the night makes, when the moon is in harmony with the breeze and the stars accompany your voice. We sang the lyrics we could remember, and let laughter bubble forth from what ever ocean it willed. How sweet the first breath after the plunge.
There’s a red house in the mountains where I go to thaw. I left someone out there. When I return I see that they have grown, surrounded by the concert of your thoughts, and together we walk the rambling trails gathering blackberries for summer jam. I feel more at peace there, among the brambles, than I do wrapped in the soft comforts of home.
On that lonely street three boys once filled an empty house, but they never lived there. Now a new family has bought that old house and I cannot help but wonder if the house is still empty. I have wanted to visit, to see if something grows in those old dusty rooms. I want to see if life has returned to that lonely house in the suburbs, but I cannot. What I left in that old house I am better off without.
- 1 year ago