We All Go Back to Where We Belong
"She never saw the finished door, although she passed through it after she passed, her final trek out of that house in Houston."
I wrote that line months ago. Something about it keeps popping up in my mind. It's like a sore in your mouth that you can't leave alone. A phantom pain. Unfinished business. And a dozen other metaphors. Maybe even a coda.
...although she passed through it after she passed...
There's much more to this story that I've never shared, which is saying a lot considering everything else I've shared. I've been silent for years though, for a myriad of reasons that are evidently becoming my undoing.
Long ago I wrote something about how this aboynamedstu blog works. How you could tell if something was fact or fiction. This though, transcends those simple, black and white labels. Players are dead. The subject is hard. And ultimately does it really matter if it is fact or fiction when the knowledge will not change anything.
Until I BLOG again...That is where it all began.
I wrote that line months ago. Something about it keeps popping up in my mind. It's like a sore in your mouth that you can't leave alone. A phantom pain. Unfinished business. And a dozen other metaphors. Maybe even a coda.
...although she passed through it after she passed...
There's much more to this story that I've never shared, which is saying a lot considering everything else I've shared. I've been silent for years though, for a myriad of reasons that are evidently becoming my undoing.
Long ago I wrote something about how this aboynamedstu blog works. How you could tell if something was fact or fiction. This though, transcends those simple, black and white labels. Players are dead. The subject is hard. And ultimately does it really matter if it is fact or fiction when the knowledge will not change anything.
Until I BLOG again...That is where it all began.
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