A second life, language and home. A secret left to grow alone. Imagine a beautiful flower perhaps, in the world I call metaphor imagery reveals everything that you ever wanted to know about memory...remember you never would have known had I not told you.
Had I not trashed your home.
Had I not broken your heart we would still be together and I admit that I was wrong from the very start.
Although I acted out of necessity.
So; "let's get out of this city."
So; "let's get out of the house."
So; "let's get out of this romance," I said, comparing it to the natural disaster of drought.
You responded with a plea for my departure from a long list of your haunts and possessions.
If you love me, you'll let me live in peace.
A contradiction in your terms is illuminated by my confession that: I will remain recurrent and I never loved you more. You release me from the world that I named metaphor.
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