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I broke down the walls between my apartment and the street.

It started with a window and then turned into a hole and then

there wasn’t a wall left and it was simply an extended path.

 

Aren’t walls really just metaphors for things we don’t want

to deal with at the moment or maybe even ever, or again?

To their roots, trees are a window opening to the rain and sun.

 

Pale green road led me to believe in the fairytale of enough

when all I’d ever seen was tomorrows; so I kept walking

towards them without stopping to see the grass on my feet.