Sep 14, 2010

now.

this place feels less and less like home.
my home as i remember it is gone.

this room feels nothing like my own.
a dusty museum of my childhood
where the big golden mirror takes centre stage.
in some other age it reflected another me.

this place reeks of the past, of some other moments in time
when we were all someone else.

the weeds creeping up the walls of this home have grown.
they have burst the roof and made this into a different place.

some new sunshine has entered the stage.
a sunshine different from the one before.
amidst old photographs and dusty toys
amidst stale memories of lives gone
this me reflected in the golden mirror now
feels compelled to find a home of my own.


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