like fingers, our web of maturity stems into the different closets of our past, building upon the insecurities that manifest in our limbs. inside my walls, you echo with brokenness. once again I stand on the sidelines, attuned to the journey we are about to pursue. your smile is hollow. it holds on to the past, disrobing your love into tiny fragments of give and take. I build you up with all that I can, but I fall short in my attempts because I am not her. though she is dust in a memory locked inside your soul, her dirt has been caught in a sandstorm of hurt swirling about your beating heart. you are unaware of its strength. I am awake in its heat.
Photo: http://binford-bellstudio.blogspot.com
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