It’s when the story doesnt make sense any more. 
It held you for so long. 
Safe. 
It
Made
Sense. 


The Story of how you were made.
The Story of what you are to fight for.
The Story that can house you within thoughts you can still believe in. 
Human Sinner, Saved by Grace. 


The Story of what it all means to be. 
Suffer, Struggle, Survival, Hope. 
Chasing Shadows as they fight back. 


The Story. 
The Story you lived within. 
Held you with its 
Beliefs. Dogmas. Words. 
Behaviours. Cultures. Actions. 
The Story that you found a home in. 
And then. 
The Plaster starts to crumble from the walls. 
The Heat from the inside (or the outside) melts the paintwork
Pristine Paint. Perfectionist Paint. Performative Paint. 
All of a sudden. 
It’s melted paint. Pained Paint. 
Melting. 
At the edges
Revealing the bare wood
Under three coats of undercoat and three thickened layers of oily gloss
Burning like melted cheese with that fume. 
The Edges of the story you believed in. 
The One that held you
The One that you based a life frame around. 
Snuggled within its safety
Even if it held you in suppressed shroud. 
It fit. 

Until it didn’t. 

Until it couldn’t anymore. 

In the middle
In the change.
Everything is raw 
Everything feels like its burning
As the bare wood revreals itself
And a new story
Of you. 
Is yet to be found. 
By you
As the edges of the frames of the story final give way
You want a new story
To replace the old
You want something else to believe in
Because that’s what you were told
Capatalism, Socialism, Christianity, God
Find another house. 
Once the old one fades away smouldering. 

You get to the burning door. 
Smouldering paint work.
Exposed. 
Yet. 
Beyond is in view. 
Outside the story. 
Awaits. 
And
You can
Walk.
Out. 
From the frames that once held you. 

So you wander, down the path. 
Grief-stricken yet moving. 
Homeless. 

Try some new ones out. 

But though the words are different. 
The Story structures feel the same. 

In this freedom path, on a good day
Lostness on a bad one. 

Freedom days aren’t house hunting days. 
Strange that. 

Leaving new houses quicker than before. 
Before the one that kept you for so long. 

Because. Nothing now compares. 
To the story emerging. 
The one story
That is only true. 
The Story of you.