The backyard of the front of my mind.

And when I was five, I moved to a green place. I didn’t have my friends and I was alone. Then, I found my crayons, my comfort. And I drew a tree house. The wood had muscles beyond the strength I could ever gain. My creation took me away to a place that was familiar and warm. I found friends in the branches and listeners in the view. This would be mine. It cared when my older sister didn’t. It laughed when my dad couldn’t. And it held me when my mom was too busy. This was my extraordinary secret.

                                  AND

          THEN

                   I

                                  GREW

                                UP

And when I was fifteen, I stopped caring about my special drawing. More like... I forgot about it. I was too distracted from holding hands for the first time during the fireworks. And I went through the next empty years ignoring my secret.

And when I was eighteen, I was living in a brown place. I didn’t have my friends and I was alone. I closed my eyes, and started to remember a time when I could feel above it all. And I started to remember my tree house. I wanted to find the ladder. I needed to feel the warmth. Frantically searching, I only got more lost. And my tears started to paint the forest floor that wasn’t there.

And then I found it. Burnt to the ground along with my bridges. And when my bones were too cold, and my soul was too broken, you found a way to get to me. You found a way to cross over to the place I threw you out of.

                                              And you took me to your tree house.