Lived In but Not Loved In

childhood memories aren't what they seem to be

Time will fill these rooms with dust,
settling over everything.
Untouched memories
sitting on mantels
or packed away
in the ceiling.

Shelves lined with beanie babies
and picture frames,
memories clung on to
like pants lined with grass stains
from jumping off swing sets.
Desk drawers filled with
dried out pens
and journals full of secrets.

Closets hold more than just clothes,
tears wiped onto cuffs of sweaters,
signatures on the back of old T-shirts
instead of a yearbook,
hand-me-downs worn secretly
before older siblings outgrew them.

Mirrors wiped clean of water marks
and toothpaste splatter still catch
reflections of all the hours
tucked away in the shadows.

Corners still remember the door creaks
when sneaking into dad’s room
after a bad dream,
after a long night of work,
the floorboards moaning
beneath heavy feet.

The air, heavy with disconnections,
stuffed in pockets and carried
around for years.
Ache lingers,
too much silence,
not enough space,
all of it leaving
indiscernible fears.

Mementos fade into silhouettes
of something once loved,
now outlined in hazy lights
and thick dust.