I painted it white

I reach now to the past
To the simplicity of what
Once was
The safety of the known
No surprises
A picket fence home
I forget the spaces, voids
Left unfulfilled
I pick the memories scrapbook
Them to reflect then
Is better than now
The heart is deceitful in its
Memory
It serves itself, partial lies
Obscuring obvious truth.
Bruce Springsteen did not
Save us, nor our love of dogs
I instead dreamt of beaches
And sunsets
And innocence long lost.
Here then is the truth,
A picture of grey:
black and white blended
In a collage of what once was
And is stored in my heart
Forever
In white
(to the detriment of my soul)

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth

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