pareidolia

"do you want to see the house?", my mother asked me, just a quarter mile, before the turn off 118, she didn't say "old", because it hadn't been sold yet, but i noticed that she didn't say "our house", just "the", as if to imply some greater, unspeakable meaning, like a place in history, or the scene of a crime, or a haunted estate, where people only visit, to feel some brief presence, of a past life, or the hope, of a life past this one, maybe that's why she asked, maybe that's why i said "sure", or maybe we both just wanted some closure, maybe that's why she asked, maybe that's why i said "sure", or maybe we both just wanted it to be over, so we turned and followed, familiar streets, past train tracks, houses, and memories, of my only former life, not much had changed, in that neighborhood, not even the house, on the outside. what did i expect?, to see the rooms i knew so well, all the patterns erased, devoid of life, covered up in, eggshell white, and in an instant, the floor fell out beneath me, and the walls drifted away, reminded how we've always been, just floating through blank space, maybe that's all we have, maybe i'll never feel fine, or maybe it will all just take me a lifetime, maybe that's all we have, maybe that's really just fine, or maybe i just haven't seen it in the right light, so that's it, a blank canvas we're given, upon which to cast whatever, we choose to believe in, well, i feel love, and i feel loved, i feel like this right here is true, so this is where i stake my claim, a modest home, with a modest view, i've built a house of cards, with a glass floor on a bottomless pit, i'll never take for granted, when i look down i can't forget, perception is reality, life is truly what you make it, so i'm taking stock of what's around me, and trying my hardest to embrace it, the reasons i wanted to kill myself, have never truly gone away, i am just grateful to have found, stronger reasons for me to stay