The Home of Memories

Every time I enter the home where I was born

I feel like in an endless room of memories that are torn

Everything feels like 100 years old

The toys I played with are sitting like statues, covered in dust

And the clothes I wore are in the closet, looking like no one has worn them since the 1800s.

And the closet is torn completely open without a door, just a piece of wood lying there with the clothes.

And the playroom I would play in has been abandoned completely, like an old shack.

Now the home sits idly here, desperately waiting for any visitors.

Idly sitting in the middle of a modern world

Waiting for someone to come back

Waiting for me to return