walls

i’m becoming more comfortable with these walls. their chorus sings me to sleep.

in the corner, the plaster crack grows longer as the humidity grows higher. a sort of timeline written in imperfection.

cobwebs don’t form because i don’t let them. they have no place here.

the dog dances through his life, a player on a stage, unaware of much outside of these walls.

i imagine all that they’ve seen.

i’m more comfortable with that, too.