A small piece of my day written down.
In between travels I found myself walking floors I have walked on every year since I was alive.
Where my height was measured against the kitchen pillar. But never grew taller than my mother.
I teached myself to cook here. My arms went above my shoulders to reach everything. And it took awhile to let the food taste right, but once it did… I was reminded not to give up on anything, even if a better end result has to wait a while.
With a living room so empty I revisited the sleepover I secretly threw when my mother was out of town. Just because we were young and wanted to stay up all night. We had set aside all the furniture to make space for pillows and blankets.
I am not missing the coldest hallway that cooled my body immediately when I came out of the shower. Even now, I am walking fast.
Once I arrived in a room I used to call my own, I was hit by damp air. A place where many of my dreams came to be, but certain things got drenched by negativity.
The whole house got caught. So I left. Stepped in the shed that still has the party lights hanging from a party half my lifetime ago.
For the very last time I went out of the door. Walked into the garden to say goodbye to the tree that carried my weight, while I would read a book on its thickest branch.
In the end, I am not branching out to a house that was never a home. My roots might have started there, but the flowers took me everywhere.
Love,
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