If beginnings were a color
They’d be pink.
Like the familiar stone-walled frame
I dragged boxes and bags into.

We cluttered the corners with
Inside jokes and vivid tales
And postered the blank walls with
Memories and forget-me-nots

Within the blushing pink
We became a “home”.

If endings were a color
They would be gray
Like our common rose-colored frame
They bathed in a sticky dark paint

They emptied littered corners
Blooming with black mold and dust
And undressed the flowered walls
Exposing all our cracks and breaks

Outside the sullen gray
We became “unknown”