the house I grew up in.
is starting to fade from my mind.
and it seems as if the memories I made there were made up.
but those memories were real.
words in a dusty book. fragments.
so crisp and clear in some places. quickly losing character.
fraying around the edges, bleeding colour.
small trinkets in a glass case. unreachable.
aging and fading.
shoes on a shelf. worn, left behind.
I wished for so long to grow up.
and now, here we are with the future having arrived.
and I want nothing more than to go back and experience it all.
one last time.
just a glimpse of that old house. a small whiff of the smoke flooding my windows in the hazy hours of spring.
one last cuddle on the gloria sofa. one last dance around the feet in the kitchen.
moments, which then seemed so small. but now seem just perfect.
glossing over all the tender blemishes.
one last run around the world, my yard. sound sleepy afternoons and carefree summers. those fuzzy winter nights.
but where are we now? time has passed.
things have changed.
and with it all, I have changed the most. but I don’t want to forget my childhood. too much to forget, yet not enough to wholly remember.
fighting myself, constant tension. a dulling ache.
maybe, sometimes it is as simple as wanting to go home.
but home is no longer the place where I used to rest my head.
maybe, sometimes it is as simple as closing my eyes and truly being able to sleep.
home is a place, a smell. some people.
But these too will fade.
it will only take a day.
and my heart lingers still in the doorway of my childhood.
with fear I want to leave, I want to grow.
one arm out the door, hesitation. the world is new, and I, older still.
do I close the door behind me as I go?
