Four walls through a first person point of view.
That’s how I saw it, laying in the center of the empty room on the bamboo floor board my daddy laid.
Staring at the ceiling, tracing the corners with raw and broken eyes.
I would be the last person to leave this place, and rightfully so. The last person to say goodbye. The last person to lock the door, and let the house go.
Four walls through a first person point of view. I spoke to the woman inside of my bones gently, as my voice cracked for the last time.
In this room, I became a warrior. In this room, I became a woman. In this room, I became a writer. In this room, I became a wanderer.
Four walls through a first person point of view. I carried the weight of the world with me as I walked out that door.
