If From The Ashes We Rise
Every single time the wind blows the house moans. It bends slightly lower. One day a strong gust or perhaps even a gentle breeze will whisper across the planks, rattle the panes and the whole structure will fall. Collapse on itself. Wood and metal, photos and memories tossed into a heap of rubble and anguish. And misplaced dreams. And circling hovering above it all will be a cloud. A heavy, suffocating storm of gritty particles. We will be blind as we stagger in. We will stum
