Your Still Life

There comes a time when questions end. The page unread, a
canvas blank. Answers fail, I can't relate. This is the time when questions end. Yours is a dialogue that I cannot erase. So hang tight to your fears and hold hands with silence. The old ghosts still inhabit the space between your bed and the wall. You've written your own history. This is the bed you've made, and I refuse to tuck you in.