evening interludes.
These nights never feel the same as you age
The bed doesn’t hold you as warmly as it did before
The drawings you so stubbornly stuck to the walls
Are peeling like a forgotten blister
time hangs in the air in slow motion
Between tear glazed views of your honey tinted room
And ambient tones humming in your ear
The state of constant flux and uncertainty
Taints the purity you so worshiped as a child
It’s like never quite catching your breath
One day suddenly seeing the blue veins on your mother’s hands
And the mortality of even the most formidable figures
catches you off guard
Not one living thing is impervious to this strange decay.