As ravished as the house had been, being within made me feel less broken.
The overgrown grass, sporadic dead spots on the lawn…it spoke to me of being alone with my thoughts.
Maiden Mary would greet me with her loose ways.
Twisted as she was, she encouraged me to come out of the big book and play.
Years strolled pass and Mary stayed, solidified to those that pray.
And, though she had wished me to always be well. Through her painted on tears…I could tell,
Mary had been living in a personal hell.
Could it have been that we both had were under a broken spell?