You painted all of these walls back.
The way that they used to be.
Cause renovations always meant more to you than they ever did to me.
You chased your demons with soft whispers.
And ushered them to the door.
You only ever return with more resolve than
You ever had before.
We all need a black sheep.
In our grey families.
Someone to look down on and say.
Glad that isnt me.
I dont think in those terms anymore.
Lean back in history.
Seven years, the only thing thats different is
this is nothing new.
Painted over our favorite stretch of gravel road and leaving us this empty parking lot.
