The move

Picture within a frame, closed in as her view became.

All directions blocked, not by walls but by the sheer endlessness of countless open roads, too many to choose from. She walked those paths before but they looked new. She had so little time, she needed to go somewhere, to find something she lost.

But every time she tried another one, all excited, expecting to find old friends; she kept returning to the crossroad where she got lost. She found herself holding the empty frame and the pain in her chest almost killed her, over an over. Untill there was no more pain as she stepped over the threshold into the bubble. The frame kept her illusions safe and her mind captured.

Memories, detailed as black and white photographs, visited her and lingered, made her world a sweet dream that was real, embracing her longing, her searching and she escaped willingly, for a while, longer each time.

There was the red brick stones that felt warm against her smooth skin, when she watched the sunset over the creek and the pinetrees. There were the dew drops on the ivy, stubborn and sneaky, creeping back across the bedroom window, in spring. The laughter of her son, the heavy bark of Fellow, announcing visitors. The summerdays,,, the sunglows, the turnsoles, the daisies,,,she so loved the bright yellow. She never liked the roses, proud and posh, but they were his and so she bowed to them while she poured water on their roots. Their heads turned as to follow her as she walked away, but she didn't see,,,

There was the picture within a frame, of cotton sheets bleached by the autumn sun; sheets on their bed, all wrinkled and smelling of him, lit by the moonlight, looking at her.

She knew she couldn't stay, they didn't have to tell her, although they tried, gently, with soft loving words.

The crowsnests inside her head made the thoughts fly in and out, brought forgotten moments and got her lost in time. She was tempted to stay, so often.

Life had not been easy, but it was now, with all those silly little things that made her smile.

She saw his face, touched it eagerly with both hands and called him by his name.

"Robert" she said " You didn't shave, but there is still time, I will get you soap and water." "Robert, why are you crying?" as she didn't see her sons face with his fathers hazelbrown eyes.

She walked through the empty rooms of their home, caressing the smooth surface of the kitchentable and smiled at the red curtains where they had that arguement over. Maybe a part of her knew that the walls were bare and that she wasn't holding her lovers hand,,,,she preferred her dreams as she saw the world within the frame, only.

She left there but she took the frame. She was happy.