Warrior reflections

Today, I am going to be bold and say I was pretty brave. Perhaps doing something the many wouldn’t have faced. 
I held his hand as I walked toward the London pad the house of many memories, my first owned home and and a love nest. 
Today I wanted to supersede the latest memories here with ones to remain – as a family, with my family. 
But fuck me. I am sat on the pavement opposite looking at number 61 and thinking perhaps that was just one thing, one thing too hard to do. It’s the mirrors. The mirrors that totally freak me out. 
The mirrors and a reflection of who is looking back into them. And all the images… imprinted on my mind. I wonder if they will ever fade? I take photos of the boys and I to try and ‘reclaim’ my home, my memories, my mirror. But my eyes show too much sorrow rather than joy. 
So it’s time to go. I have walked each room, opened each drawer, cupboard, looked in every mirror. 
It’s time to let that piece of history go and be grateful that it is funding the future. My mud pit, my land, my dilapidated, listed building; aged with beauty and flaws, frayed around the edges, with secrets hidden, waiting to be discovered. 
And with that, the front door opens and out walks my future. My Tom. Wanting to know why I am sad. I hope he never knows…. or if he does, I hope he knows how strong we are and how strong we have become because of facing the challenge, facing the hardship and how we rose from being knocked down. 

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