beginning of the end

the pictures fell off my wall one by one. it started in the summer heart, the height of my flurry. i spent a majority of the summer wondering why i didn’t do a thing about it. why i just let them fall. in some mellow dramatic way it felt right. i was looking for answers and signs from anyone or anything. my picture wall was the first eager volunteer, a willing taker. so i let it speak. i let it have its way. 

my mother asked me why i wouldn’t use something with more structure. something more sturdy to keep those moments in tact. but  it was all that i had. like the last 8 years. using what i had. but nothing else would do. it was this sticky, tacky, good for nothing in summer heat, puddy, 

or nothing. 

“it’s so easy, just pick them up as they fall. you are making more work for yourself, “she would say. but it was never easy. and she could never understand. maybe because i couldn’t either. so i let them fall until there was nothing left. it was time 

to rebuild.