Everytime I walk back home from your house the word mocks me. It nags at my guilty self. Just as each step is reassuringly repetitive yet painfully familiar as is my mistake, over and over and over. As I pass by I often wonder if the vandal considered his audience? Was his parental tone specifically for me and my shameful Sunday morning pilgrimage? Did he predict his actions would speak louder than his word?
I doubted it. All he thought was set on stone.
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