Such beautiful suburban streets, lined with joy, familiarity, comfort and peace but oh what a shame to see just a few blocks onwards, the kind streets out of the rush of the city, those sickly white crosses dotted along the side of the tarseal.
Some marked with fresh lamposts others guarding gaps in fences that have disappeared over the ledge to the sweet meadow grass below. All partnered with decaying flowers, notes of longing and the taint of sadness with the knowing the symbolism of these small unintrusive bits of wood.
The smell of lives taken to soon.
Gone but not forgotten, at least for now.
YOU ARE READING
Train Of Thought: Delayed
RandomJust some random things that pop into my head while I'm living life and dealing with everything it throws at me. I may swear, I'm sorry. It's a coping mechanism.
