There was must and mildew on the walls. Checkers and zig-zags etched into the cement, dank wall, almost making it pretty. If not for the horror down here it would be alluring, mystical and enticing. There will be no mention of this place because of the rumors, because of the judgements. There is no love for those places deemed illogical and whimsical. Only the forget-me-nots and odd balls inhabit this inhabitable place. But I won’t apologize for its darkness. I refuse to paint my brush of blue along the wall. It is not meant to be altered. To do so would insult its journey and evolution. To at last separate ourselves from our senses means perhaps for one snuffed out moment, we can truly love.
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