• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 12
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It Was My Place Until You Found It

I read here. I read those books you said were for children. I read a thesaurus to find new ways of saying no to you.

I looked out of the window over our creaking neighbourhood and considered how neat and tidy it used to be.

I played that toy guitar she gave me. The sham sound from its synthetic strings finally made sense.

I eavesdropped on the birds. They talk differently at this height. They speak of future plans. They moan about the worms at Number 12.

I listened to my heart slow down. From a clobbering throb that started in the kitchen when you threw that knife at me, it descended to an even pace that let me breath again.
The sunset helped.

I tasted freedom. It always faded from my tongue when your car pulled in to the driveway.

I touched the wooden beams as if they were still alive, feeling for the running sap, feeling for connection.

I liked it when you thought it was just storage up here. You thought it was just a place to dump things.

You climbed up the ladder so quietly I didn't notice. You normally stomp around the house making your presence felt with every step. You saw me looking out over the other side of our repetitive streets towards the haze of the city.


It Was My Place Until You Found It

When you threw the paraffin I thought you were joking. When you lit the match I thought it was another one of those things that only you find funny. But you didn't laugh.

The flames ate everything.