The portraits are sleeping
\nin the shadows.
\nPictures of people whose eyes are open,
\nbut looking into dreams.
\nThey are not dead, or
\nlocked up behind their images.
\nI remember pounding on closed doors
\nas a child, afraid they would never open again.
\nThat somehow I was drowning.
\nThat I would disappear without their voices.
\nThey knew where everything was.
\nTheir arms were the invisible curvature
\nto my life.<\/p>\n
These pictures are open.
\nThe people in them are alive.
\nWe talk to each other and smile.
\nWhen I frown or cry, they wait for me.
\nTo live without them would make my life
\nempty.
\nLike being lost in a woods,
\nlost inside a panic,
\nuntil they call in the distance,
\nwe are here, we are here,
\nand I live another day
\ncomforted by their love.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The portraits are sleeping in the shadows. Pictures of people whose eyes are open, but looking into dreams. They are not dead, or locked up…<\/p>\n