Nothing Is What It Could Be
A series defining and defined by grief.
At some point you will notice the noise outside and realize that it has been calling you. It has always the same noise, but you will manage to tune out the sounds of this old house long enough to look out the window to see who is calling. God, I need to go out there, if only I could take everything here with me. Even the ancient drip from the ceiling, a symbol of weakness in the structure, but a constant of the years nonetheless. And do you remember everything we laughed about? Oh to hear that laughter— even if only in the wind, would be a great relief. And then the journey from this haunted room toward expansiveness. Fires and floods, storms and drought. Is there any other way to dissolve the boundary between in here and out there? I only hoped to turn the doorknob and step out. I never intended to turn and find the old house blowing away as if only dust.
