mazeways

it's white like the side of her dad's old ford ranger. you can't really go there, can you?

but her... macrame on her living room walls. an american flag draped from a pole on the porch beside a black prisoner of war/missing in action flag. her dad's blue armchair and his piercing, blue eyes. fox news just a little too loud. the hardwood floors and his shrieking about illegals and her bedroom, compulsively cleaned every day.

her paws on the keys.
oh, that's right. you’re reminded of that time where Mocha taught you the basics of how to play piano.

"honestly? I don't know, ____."

your heart deflates in an instant. the gravity of the overcast sky crushes you. you know what you have is special. you know you're close. you know that you love each other.

you love Mocha with all your heart. in a perfect world, maybe it would work. maybe if something were different. you can’t place your finger on what, exactly.

a hand of black smoke reaches out from the tree line and places its finger against your lips. shhhhh. there's something you don't know, but you know how it feels. it feels sour, it feels bitter, it feels... it feels hot. it's like fire, smoke choking your lungs, it's wrong! something feels wrong! what is it?

it's wrong! it's wrong! it's wrong!

{ quit mazeway }