Each time I drive past it
It just looks like it is asleep
Our old house
Nestled between two giants
looks sad, hollow, abandoned
I said to him — more than a few times
Either we move or we get a helium machine
It is true…
Broke the jar…
First it was one little bed.
Then it was a little bed and a crib.
Then it was two little beds.
And then it was one big bed.
And now it is only boxes.
Sometimes I wondered if they still loved each other
Because I had a skewed sense of what love is
What love means
Because we have been told of fireworks
And passion
And adventure
But love is far deeper than these things
Love is knowing that even when the brain tires
…
There is something that happens at the end of August
The fruit once vibrant in colour, scent, taste
Rescinds into itself and contracts with lack of nourishment — less sun, less warmth
The leaves begin to turn
Many leave the city trying to hold onto the last moments of…
