Home. Where frustrations are familiar, the security of the well-known both comforting and restraining. A place littered with what’s been taken for granted. Intimacies disbanded, seconds grow into weeks of solitude and confinement of hands and thoughts. Restrained in the soft glow of old nights, it all feels distant, the routine dismissed as so often threatened. Things are different now, and the price of the past comes at the expense of uncertain futures that lie in another’s hands. If only. That’s the thought that skips the groove into refrain. If only the value of it all was realized. If only these eyes weren’t stricken with the cataracts of self-immolation. If only things could be unsaid. Maybe it wouldn’t feel as invaluable as it does now. Maybe it never would have been assumed unfit in the first place. #cat #feline #cute #perched #night #painting #candle #poem #poetry #writer #writing (at Evening Regrets)