We built this house. We eat watermelon on the floor, spitting seeds across a shooting range measured by the planks in the floor.

We built this house. We spill barbeque sauce while trying to make pizza and lick it from each other like wild animals, we are free.

We built this house. We drink our coffee cold. We’re too busy looking at each other to drink it hot. I guess we’re admiring the temperature of each other instead.

We built this house. My eyes are the color of the garden you gave me, watered by the April showers of tough times. Flowers come in spring.

We built this house. Your eyes fell from the stars, your dreams stayed there, never to come back down.

We built this house. We dance in our underwear as we pack away our scars, the scars that don’t scream,

we can walk away from this quietly.

We have never loved each other more than this moment, but now this moment has passed. We sit across from each other in more April showers, flowers come in spring. We sit on the wrong sides of the table. Packing our scars into separate boxes, they scream. We keep them quiet.

If Christ can move stone to forgive our sins, why can’t we?

Rip open the scars that scream, pack them with the dirt of a grave, you are ready to let them die. You are ready to plant seeds. Flowers come in spring. We don’t wait for healing to find us. We have risen from the ground and better **** well act like it. You water flowers, not leave. Regrowth happens in spring.
We are spring.
We are spring.

We built this house.