I am from
the old brick house at the bottom of a hill;
from a small, sunny backyard;
that twilight taste of cigarette smoke from my neighbour.
I am from midnight walks through the park,
snow angels in the snow,
a house among the trees and hide-and-go-seek on rooftops.
I am from lots of bed time stories,
another one, mommy. Please?
Sitting on the staircase, contemplating whether I should ask to sleep with them because the monster scared me away.
I am from cousins and sleepovers in the summer-shed;
swinging for hours in their living room;
playing minecraft way longer than we should have;
from tag in the woods and more hide and seek down by the creek.
I am from waiting in my room 'till midnight just to make sure he got home safe and sound.
I am from watching the smoke from chimneys in the night,
from thinking that the park was on fire.
Going to twenty different places,
seeing oceans and mountains and adventures,
missing them.
From my first ballet class (and hating it),
from all those competitions and ribbons and costumes,
promising it was my last year every time and finally regretting it when it really was.
I am from going to Grandpa's house everyday after school.
I remember him in his rocking chair, with the cat in his lap, treats waiting our arrival.
He doesn't sit there any longer.
I am from wishing and watching and waiting for nothing.
I am from piles of paper and journals hidden in the corners of my room, scattered with words and memories.
I am from my sister. My mother. My father.
I am from flowers and forget me nots and daisies and lupins.
From the books on my shelves, half of them unread.
I am from staring at my ceiling fan, asking God what was wrong with me.
I am from my Black Book, where those heavy feelings linger.
From those first two weeks of quarantine, reading so much I actually couldn't see properly. And not regretting it at all.
I am from denial, denial, denial was the truth.
But hey, Grace, it's sitting right there in front of you.
Might as well embrace it.
I am from being the sentimental one.
Keeping those shoes that don't fit because I wore them on my trip.
I am from almost diving in too deep.
Sigh
I am from letting go. From love. From memories.
But where I'm from, is letting go.
I've re-written this too much. I get an idea and then when I write it I can't think of anything. But anyway, here is where I'm from. For edn.