Do you remember the hole at the end of my driveway? Everyone would trip on it as we stumbled home. Said the city would make us fix it, but they never did. I heard the new owners ripped out the entire thing and painted the house green.

Im living in between these moments like smoke in the air. I inhale it deeply and wonder when my lungs will finally give in.

Everyone says you’re not alone when you’re actually the most alone you’ve ever been.

I guess that’s a part of the sadness, right? It’s how grief takes a physical form- like an empty room. Like chipped, green paint along the side of a house. Like a crumbling driveway.

-AMT ©️