Open, close. Open, close-doors, eyes, legs.
Blinking, I look and my six year old surroundings are suddenly familiar.
Dusty half-read books, stacks of mail, and mismatched blankets.
The mirror never lied--my smile did fade.
It hurts to crease its corners today.
Firey salt fights to exit.
Releasing.
Shameful and red; vulnerable and broken--necessities within my gray.
My attempts at prevention backfired and love's chemical magnet attracted, reacted, and dulled.
Truth did not disappear, only emerged from the clearing.
I finally welcomed it back into my home.
Blinking, I look and my six year old surroundings are suddenly familiar.