this winter.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rYFlaANfCyyjpfOtI6643dGMjP5HKuJXNwcmdNuWyxPhYqyh5EPURvVviw5ikOzE4-Qr597FsQ4q9nO98WpMvt09-S7y40belLfKDQXKNr-1GLWduyAoGnJynoAVX8iiN1ZO2Q/s320/dying-tree.jpg)
and high ceilings
and proximity.
but i didn't choose this.
no, not this.
and this ache that doesn't go away
is not something i signed up for.
i didn't pick it from a shelf
with wide-eyes and a wider smile.
i didn't take it down and care for it;
cushioning it with lace and down and cotton - maybe bubble wrap.
i didn't pack it into a box - carefully
and load it onto a truck
with other things like
the blue couch
and the shabby-chic comforter
and that box full of photos i'm not sure he knows i have.
i didn't put it in a car instead of the u-haul
along with the artwork - pensive girl by irving amen,
originals by amy,
photo by mom - spider web echoing sunrise
no,
i didn't do that.
and this dying inside has to be healing.
but sometimes, it just feels like death.
and i'm not currently a fan
of winter.
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