Little Pig, Little Pig

The huff came silently.
 
Without discernment it blew down our partitions.
 
“We’ve stable walls” …I’d run my fingers along the plaster.
 
“Fortified”…I had thought.
 
It was a beautiful home, comforting and deceiving.
 
I once believed it to be impenetrable, but here I stand where it once stood.
 
I can’t remember its color or its shape now…
 
Did it have many windows?
 
I can’t remember its warmth; I can only remember how exposed it’d left me when it crumbled.
 
The absence bids me to my knees, and with trembling fingers, I begin again.
 
I’ve many unsuccessful attempts.
 
I cannot seem to build an impenetrable home with my fallible hands.
 
So instead…
 
I’ll take these dusted fingers,
 
Clasp them into a roof high above my head,
 
And posture until you come back.
 
You see, I’m still here…
 
I never let your malice in.
 
I will not crouch in ruin.
 
“Not by the hair on my chinny chin, chin!”
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