The Week In Passing
This small house becomes much too large when I'm set free to roam about. Its walls seem so far apart. The stair well too deep too high as I climb it. The bed sits there in the corner half made the other half crumpled where I pass the night. Its pillows still sit as if waiting. Waiting for someone to share their space. I still smell the fragrance of the green bottled lotion it lingers in the creases of my mind setting it afloat. That green bottled lotion that someone truly loves. This small house seems to sit in waiting just as the bed waits just as I wait for my loves return.
jSweptson
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 3:28 AM UTC
The Week In Passing
This small house becomes much too large when I'm set free to roam about. Its walls seem so far apart. The stair well too deep too high as I climb it. The bed sits there in the corner half made the other half crumpled where I pass the night. Its pillows still sit as if waiting. Waiting for someone to share their space. I still smell the fragrance of the green bottled lotion it lingers in the creases of my mind setting it afloat. That green bottled lotion that someone truly loves. This small house seems to sit in waiting just as the bed waits just as I wait for my loves return.
jSweptson
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