where we once lived, standing on withered grass, remnants of the past.
ascent the rotted staircase, through overgrown bushes, enter the unhinged doorway.
a shabby place that you pass over. but this is all i know.
floral sofa in decay, softly, holding persistent odor, gaze out the cracked window.
a place in shambles that you ignore. but this is all i know this was once my home.
-Writing on Waves
Does your memory serve you well?
Upon visiting the old home, it is bittersweet to reminisce about what once was.
