there is no emotion in it.
it's empty now.
laughter will no longer fill that room
kids running in and out will no longer be heard
the days where we spent our youth
will no longer exist.
that place is silent now
no one goes in it much, if at all.
and it's quite the somber scene
but there's something missing.
a person, maybe.
this was his bathroom
the place where i drank soda with my sister in the bathtub out of wine glasses
the place where i washed my dirty feet from the trampoline
the place where i filled up water balloons and water guns
the place that was the most busy
during the times of our youth.
but those days are over
and we will never get them back.
a woman will walk into that bathroom
and maybe check her hair.
smile the fakest one i've ever seen
and then she'll shut off the lights and turn around and walk back out
the lights are never on in that room
they remain off
dormant, i thought
but no
they had their explosion
and they will not erupt again.
no, not in a million years.
not even beyond
this house in itself does no longer exist
well, it does
but not the one i knew.
no, never.
that one will only exist in my memory, as it always has.
the one where the mother read her child books,
sparking her interest for reading.
the place where the daughter watched her father tinker with a tractor
skip a few years ahead
the tractor becomes a motorcycle
the child watches, but will never understand
the parents watch but will never understand
this is the house i grew up in
not the one i was raised in.
