Home. Part Two
The window
is open.
The air smells,
Of lavender.
No,
Of lilacs.
Your favorite flowers,
Were lilacs.
That's why,
we planted them.
You loved them.
It seams ,
As though everything,
In here,
Becomes you
somehow.
I can't get over you,
When your in my prison .
I can't love your memory,
When the smell,
of lilacs,
Reminds me,
of this house.
Reminds me,
of the pain.
You are still needed.
Which is why,
life,
Fills itself,
With you.
But it's surrounded
by darkness,
And inanimate objects,
Cannot raise a daughter.
