I don’t dare to go home.
Home smells like damp
and decay
on my father’s worn clothes.
But sometimes,
I go there in my mind—
to the tiny bedroom window
where trees framed my view
like a painting too large
for the walls I grew up in.
I hear the rain.
I hear the birds
in the dark confinements
of that childhood room.
And I remember—
those hours before the house woke,
the hush of everything still breathing,
were the only thing
that kept me
alive.
Love the ending. Totally relate.