The clouds in one's dilapidated mind,
once parted ways to make room for you.

Escaping each crevice, moving faster than the eye can see.
Dusting and cleaning on their way out to make it appear more homelike to you.

I have described my mind inside as a glorious wall, built with blood and tears, shrouded by constant storms; overran by parasitic flowers, devouring all feeling one might have for the outside world.

On that day, to have described it in such a way that would have ruined my reputation as an honest person.