Home

There are pictures on the walls. There are things peeled off from doors, that used to be there when I was there. The peering, prying effect of neighbors who really only keep to themselves. The walls, yellowed like when I was still here. The same street noises, quiet and suburban. I daydream of when the light fell a certain way and all I had to worry about was getting a ride to the mall.

I hear voices downstairs. They are people who didn't used to live here. This house is now filled with people who didn't used to live here. Appliances that were not here before. So I left. I don't even recognize the people who have lived here my whole life. Faces recall things. Names recall other names.

But the lightning in my eyes is too bright now, and I'm falling down, because my skin is clamping on.

I am a stranger. Make this home again. Keep me away from strange walls.

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