You've wanted her for so long.
I can hear it in your voice and
see the longing in your eyes.
Give it a day,
perhaps a laugh will keep you from going home.
Give it a week,
maybe you'll start loving this noise.
Look up,
I promise it's not all just a facade.
Home is here, home is there, home is being alone.
She had already been made for you,
perhaps this time around it will be your choice.
If you look up,
you'll be clouded by her basic disguise.
Your present,
my happiness,
it's not all set in stone.

The outer walls are covered with white chipped paint and vines.
At the top there are bits of broken glass sitting as a threat.
The main black iron gate has rusted.

The hill after entering the squeaky gate feels never ending.
To the right of the hill are is a white church made up of infinite cracks,
destroyed in 2001.

In front of the church are two statues;
the ****** Mary missing half her face,
and baby Jesus missing both his arms.

Finally reaching the top of the hill,
you're met with a guard that has grease covering his mouth and dripping down his shirt.

You step through the last gate,
and you notice the giant red slide.
The red paint on the slide is chipped,
And there are children running through and around it,
each one with dark hair, caramel skin, and a burn on their wrist.

Where are their parents?
The children laugh, and run off.

There lay white sheets wrinkled from top to bottom.
The top half of them are dark, where the light doesn't hit them.
The same light that would stream through the African curtains.
There lay white sheets wrinkled from top to bottom where our love began.
Sitting on them forehead to forehead whispering sweet nothings.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom covered bodies for many a cold nights.
On those same nights that eyes would watch snow fall through the one tiny window that the African curtains covered.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom were screamed into on  restless nights.
The same one's that were thrown off when the seasons changed and only heat filled the room.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom were folded and placed in the only dresser in the  room, avoiding confrontation.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom hung from the tiny white closet, drying after being soaked in a water fight.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom were laid on every night, for so many nights.
On these white sheets wrinkled from top to bottom is where we laid on that last night, where we held hands.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom is where our love died.

Is pain losing you?
No.
Pain is having you then having to walk away from what I know.
We not only shared every breath,
shared our days,
discovered our songs,
but we simply were.
I wanted to run into your hesitant arms,
beg you to stay mine, to stay with me.
But we couldn't,
and still can't,
but will we ever find our way back to each other?