Dust

Dust

The rooms are larger now.
Funny that; unlike the lake at the park which
Was never as big as I once imagined
These walls, this house, only deepens with memory.
My eyes are dusty
As I search for the things that I hope will never change.
The chipped dining table, the mark on the window sill,
The attic piled up with nostalgia
For each is a reminder-
The first time I walked, spoke, argued, smoked,
The single bed where I aged each night.
Would I go back?
Repair the mirror that got smashed in temper,
The countdown of Christmas staged in chocolates
Then stolen by my brothers; the tears that followed
Felt like the worst that would ever flow.
Was childhood ever the learning curve that it should have been?
In so many ways, I’m no different now
To who I was then
Except,
The empty space at my side is no longer that.