Yellow door

There's this cafe I used to go to–

I lived just down the road.

With mismatched,

gray and salmon tiles.

For years, it felt like home.

I left the suburb a while ago,

thinking that it was best.

The fence that borders

our little home,

surrounded by my ex.

The yellow door that kept us safe,

windows of painted glass.

I walked

through

shattered

glass.