“We wrote stories on walls that guarded your guilt and my thrill. You can now go ahead, and paint those walls with choices I left you to take, while I carve goodbye on the stone and rubble I took from that house and now safely keep in this heart”
Picture by Davis Bates
Her toes itched to step from the squabble and anger into his arms. Her stomach was suddendly filled with lightening. And she wondered if he was filled with hot nerves before she touched him again. No she wasn’t in love. Not before, not now. And never until his insecurities faded into her fencing glimmer.
“When they finally met,
He dived into her longing.
And she wrote on the walls he built of stone.
The poems ultimately spilt from her veins on to his gravestone and settled on his concrete heart”
Breakcage 