That summer the sky was hedged in
by clouds, as if to stave off emptiness.
When trees unfolded their fragrant bones
you were enveloped in the lavender
scent of solitude and you could not shed
the bitterest memories.
You learned truths
that seemed unkind:
the world is insincere
and you will never be beautiful.
It is best to care for nothing.
To dream of lines and endings.
It was then that you noticed
the contradiction inherent in hinges,
how a door can blossom
and wither in the same breath.
How it all depends
on the will of a hand.