Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Labour

The walls have a warmth to them,

because you are standing and staring at them,

spilling sunshine and asking my opinion on paint swatches.

I am overwhelmed.

There are so many walls.

So many rooms.

I have so little to give,

just my dresses in a bent and struggling cardboard box,

and as much of my vinyl collection as we could carry from the car.

There is a waterfall erupting all over my shoes,

because the boy is making it clear that he would like to see the warm walls.

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