There was a picket-fence I wanted. A yellow door and dinner on the table at 6. There was the vision turned reality and the feeling of love and family and settled that I hoped would come. Instead, my spirit stirred. You weren’t there. I was alone in the architecture of a dream. Here with unraveled hopes and frayed edges unsure of the significance of it all. I didn’t realize forgetting the point is, in fact, the deepest meaning. That I’d had it all wrong. All along.
