Lines

If I asked you to describe my childhood what would you say? Happy, confused, a tiring battle of right and wrongs? What would you see? Mother? Father?; Namir? (You know better than most.)

Shadows lurch from the walls as an image of your face, the smudged, half -familiar curves of your silhouette. They glide across the air like the opening of angels wings emerging from the darkness. But nothing shakes me from the pain, I cannot wake. I've spent too long a figure of resentment; the target of misguided heartache. Within this room I've lived my whole life, memorized the lapping current of the curtains like the tides. When they're raised I am free to roam; when they are anchored, I am too. Each corner of this room is the beginning of a parallel problem; I cannot live with you and you cannot live without me.

The only straight line is the sunset, smiling as the light travels up.