It was like living in a house where the roof has fallen off and looking up everyday and smiling, being all Pollyanna about it. I don't care, I just don't care. What they're calling a wreck, is my home. What they don't like is what I built brick by brick over such a long time and I can't afford to lose it, lose what I've built so far for a little desturction. I can't let all the beautiful memories go to waste, its who I am, its all that we are. Invincible, irreplaceable. No, the roof is not a sign, and no it is not crumbling down. It wont kill me, it can't kill me, its whats keeping me alive. Living around all this is the reason I wake up in the morning. There isn't anywhere like this anyway, I'd trade the entire world for this. It may not be what it once was, but its our place.
Truth is, the helplessness it made me feel broke my heart. It was a mess that I couldn't stop, It drowned me in deep denial. I didn't like living in a roofless house, I didn't like the sun, I didn't like the exposure. I felt unsafe, unprotected. It didn't look like something that belongs to me, it didn't feel like something that once belonged to me. I looked up, like every other morning, and asked myself "Is it worth it?"
And it was more crushing than courageous to finally realize, it isn't. It wasn't worth it, it wasn't worth holding onto. There was no room for false hope or denial, no room for sweeping issues under the rug no more. That sad grey morning, I moved out.