sorry, to the couple in the white suburban

My favorite spot is across the street from my house.

You can see everything and nothing.

Hear things that fill your heart and feel things that rob your words. 

To get to it you have to climb over a fence

(well I mean there is a gap on the far left side. but that just wouldn't be as fun)

Behind the fence there's a runway of plants that itch naked legs

I think they itch naked legs to urge them forward.

Even the plants know that the view is the best part.

Some nights I see couples park in front of the fence and climb over. 

I tell my little brother they're just going over there to hold hands.

But tonight was different. 

Tonight a white suburban pulled up. 

Tonight my dad called the cops.

The couple got out and broke the fence.

The fence that I would purposely climb through just to feel like I was in a movie every once and a while. 

The fence that is the bridge between my reality and my dreams. 

The fence that was mine.

Tonight my dad called the cops.

They drove through the now open fence and right over the plants that would itch and urge you forward.

Right over plants that cared so much for you to see the view, that they only said goodbyes.

And we all know how hard goodbyes are.

Tonight my dad called the cops.

He told them people where breaking fences and crushing plants.

Ruining things that mattered to people that mattered. 

And maybe if I heard this story about some other fence and some other car and some other dad

I'd think it was an overreaction. 

I'd think the dad was being uptight.

But I know how that view would whisper it's secrets

I know the way my heart would miss that rock that hides my journal.

So maybe this was a reminder to me.

About things bigger than fences and views.

About judging and assuming and labeling feelings as overreactions.

Because when the fence broke

My heart did a little too.

Tonight my dad called the cops

And I swear I could hear 

those itchy plants

whisper 

"thank you".

F. Sharpe