I stand at the sink, looking out the window to the yard
knowing I will have to leave it all.
The light overhead is the one I chose.
No claims to stake? I chose this color gray for the walls.
It matches how our love feels now
Out of color, drawing out the life.
We can paint it over, but it's still lifeless
underneath the crisp white satin.
I look on, wondering "how am I supposed to just run?"
What am I running towards? They warn me not to run away...
It's my own worst habit. But how I do know when I stay or leave
If i'm never allowed to leave?
Stay is a sacrifice, leave is a risk.
My shadow loves risk, my inner child needs security.
My safety is not a home within someone else's shell--
it is a shell of my own, with room to grow.
And a window over the sink, so I'll be able to remember.