dust-covered porcelain,
spider cracks webbing down the smiling faces,
the shine in their eyes
now only a reflection of the sunlit room.
spiders cowering in the corner,
shadows looming through
sheet-covered furniture.
lonely halls,
echoes of children long gone,
old, rustic paintings on the wall,
once a place a child dreamed of being.
my hand drags against the antique-white walls,
the smell of homecooked pasta
and coffee
filling my senses.
i wonder through the rooms,
wondering what happened,
to the place, i once called home.
the creaking wood beneath my feet,
the bitter longing in my heart,
i thought being free meant having a home
wherever my heart was.
but instead,
i am left with
a war-torn past
and a bittersweet memory of the tears
that stain the floors.