Welcome Home.

You confuse me. Your mind, so manipulative yet impulsive, I am drawn to stay. How long will I stay? How long will allow myself to configure out the pieces to a puzzle I have yet to find? No one knows for sure. Not even I. Your piercing brown eyes hold secrets of their own as well. What they have seen, I have yet to see. What they have experienced, I have yet to experience or even know. Days pass by, but I cannot comprehend the mysterious whispers your lips compel from deep within your soul. They are masked. They are masked by the walls that have built up overtime, from the people you loved the most, and thought could hurt you the least. Instead, they tore, and they spit, and they added bricks to your little stone house that you have concluded around yourself. I have yet to break it down. I throw stones, but they only break the surface of the person you know. The person that lives inside the little brick house of fear. You write on the walls of your little brick house, hoping that one day, someone will pass by and realize. That someone will pass by and realize that you are there. That you have been there all along, and you want to escape and let your soul free. Let me tell you my friend, I have been reading the writing since the first time I passed. I have been reading, and deciphering, and decoding the scribbled notes on the wall that echo your reality. I have watched as people have taunted you. Your eyes would look out the cracks created by the stones people throw, and you would allow yourself to watch. You would allow yourself to watch as people spit on you, and lied to you, saying they would let you out of the little brick house. They would lure you in and allow you to stay by the cracks for a while, and you would stay. You would stay in hope that what they said was true, but it wasn’t. In the end, they threw another brick on the pile. Every night, I would come by and hope that you were peering out the cracks, but you never were. I wanted to tell you I was ready. I wanted to tell you that I’m ready to start tearing down the house. That I’m ready to start destroying the walls piece by piece, and destroying the people that try to stop me, but you were never there. Months went by, and you would try to break out yourself. You would try to break out by searching for that one person who loved you for who you were, and wouldn’t throw stones at you when the walls weren’t there. People passed by every day, but you finally gave up and left. You left in search of someone. You left in search of someone who would help you tear down the walls to your brick house. Along the way, I watched. I watched you find someone you thought was real, only leave you even more broken in the end than when you started your journey. While you were gone, I studied the bricks. I studied the walls that held your phrases of reality. I studied the people that caused you to write them there, and I realized something. I was one of them. I was a part of the hurt. I was a part of the pain inscribed into the walls you used to hide yourself, and I cried. I cried for days on end, knowing that I could have stopped you. Knowing that I could have erased my contribution just by walking up to the cracks and helping you out, but I had let you down. You had seen me. You knew me. You had already solved the pieces to my puzzled life, and you silently begged me to come over to the wall, but I never did. Instead of following you, I gave up. I climbed over the wall and began to discover the pieces to your puzzle. I stayed there for weeks, solving the puzzle to your life, and by doing so, I began to discover my own, until one day a stone was thrown. A stone was thrown not at the wall, but over the wall. I could not say how long I had been there, because I had never looked out the cracks until now. You had returned to tear down your house. You had found someone who loved you enough to erase the walls and destroy the pain. I was too late. It took me too long to realize what the walls read. It took me too long to discover in myself the missing piece that I too had been looking for. I realized the reason why I stood, watched, and waited by the little brick house, is because I longed for what was inside, but I was too late. I took too long to shift my ear towards the whispers. I took too long to look into the piercing eyes staring at me through the cracks. I took too long to tear off my own masks and show you how I truly felt. I took too long to tear off your masks and show you that I had been there all along. Now I am no longer confused, for you are not confusing. You tear down the walls piece by piece, and discover me there. I run to you. I run to your piercing brown eyes that hold secrets I have interpreted, and I listen to your lips as they whisper from deep within your soul. I have seen what you have seen. I have learned what you have experienced, and I weep. I weep as I begin to build my own little brick house, but you stop me and give me the last piece to my puzzle, that allows all my walls to fall down. We burn the pieces and share the stories, crying together as we realize how foolish we were not to notice each other all along, although we had been staring at each other the whole time. We finish building our new brick house. The brick house we built together. The walls are still filled with secrets, but not just any secrets. Our secrets. People still pass by throwing stones, but we don’t care. We both found the missing piece to our puzzle that allows us to fill the cracks and say, “Welcome home.”


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