You were these walls, the bed that held me. Now I am empty, I hold nothing.
Peaceful I moved then, as if your hand had made me. Now I'm old and crunchy; there is no relief for my condition. There is no relief.
God, I cannot even pray. I can finally speak on a page, and think I must send it somewhere for you to receive my words.
This is life. I accept this place of contraction. It is part of what happens here. Until it doesn't.
Acceptance is what I can do. Acceptance brings me back to your heart, my place in your heart.