I think that if I
could return to the house
where I was born and raised
I would find,
tucked into the deepest corner
of my closet
(and my memories)
the happiness
I once took for granted
which has since become eroded,
washed away by the
ebb and flow of time
I tell myself that I must have
forgotten to pack it
in my haste to leave myself
far behind, but
I know that it was lost
when I tried to burn my
bridges for some warmth
in my soul.
If I returned now,
misshapen and cracked as I am,
I would appear as nothing more
than the shell of the girl
who once roamed those halls...
left to haunt the place
that haunts me.