Literature
Only People Lie
The sun sets over the lake and my mother's garden is lit with gold and orange and red. It's beautiful, and I'm not. I want to go lie in the sunshine, lie like the person I am, because only people lie. I can't lay down to sleep, like a simple teddy bear. I must lie.
I'm too cold for the golden sunshine on the lawn. I have winter inside me still. The world seems to have skipped spring this year, and I have yet to thaw. The breeze is cold, and it feels like maybe it could take me home.
Home was a little yellow house in a shady neighbourhood, full of people and parties and friendship, and you used to come visit me there. Home has been other pla