139

we lived in a house at the end of the street
you’d turn the corner from the main road and we were there
this delicate landmark
this home sweet home

some nights the house would creak
old pipes, my dad would say
but some nights I swore I heard voices
ghosts of me from the future
whispering to remember this part
to remember this

I’m inflicted with memory
of first steps and a porch swing
a swinging pendulum of how time passes
that limbo when a moment turns into a memory
and all you can do is just watch it leave

when will this memory taste less sour
when does it get sweeter

8 thoughts on “139

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