In those words there was a promise. There is no lie. Every word that tumbles out in streams of salt become concrete in the air…solidifies in the cracks that were never meant to be there.
If there ever was truth it is in the words I don’t know how to change, they can’t chameleon, they cannot morph. Is it a flaw or a reason to blame?
Truth needs to be felt and not said, it needs to be given and bled.
Sometimes truth becomes a wall. You stack the bricks and after a while you realize it will not fall. Each red dusted truth builds higher and higher; you cannot see and somehow you don’t feel lighter.
This wall that was built must either be climbed or left alone…
which one of us will take the trek to come back home?