Hollow Home

The past is a hollow home. The more you stay the more you slip into its warm darkness. For some, it's the warmth that keeps them. The way the extent of familiarity hugs all their breaths and all their dimensions. For others it's the darkness, a place where their fading color doesn't matter, nor does the light of morning break its , nor wake it, nor disturb its stillness. Everything lost here is found there. For me, it's a little of both. A warmth that is dark and a darkness that is warm. I live here. Too found to lose this beautiful home but not too lost to find myself in the present or the future.

Abu A'ish MK Albani

10:20 a.m

29/7/2020