Cracked Green Paint

We locked hands in silence. The darkness hid our fear. At least, I thought it did.

Walking quickly, we passed through what appeared to be a hipster street party. Smoke butts, thick rimmed glasses, no invite.

There it was. The tall wooden door frame carried many secrets. I could tell just by looking at it. Curled iron. Cracked green paint. Carved initials.

Looking up, her blue eyes gave me strength. Yes. She was taller. Still is. I miss her strength.

Some days I see it, faintly. If only she could see what I saw.
If only she knew her own strength.

If only we could go back to the tall doorway and hide ourselves in the exposed corners.


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