The remote control looks different
Television has 20 new channels
The side table is not on the right side of the long bench anymore
Her favorite mug is now a vase
Her spoon and fork are not in the drawer
No cookie crisps in the cupboard
No kimchi in the fridge
Things were different from when she still lived here
Things were different from three years ago

Everyone is soundly sleeping upstairs
Her old room is now her cousin's
Her old bed is now her sister's
She will sleep on the floor
But she couldn't find the mattresses
She doesn't know where to look
But she looks everywhere
She couldn't find it
Exhaustion and frustration seeps in
“Where are the mattresses?"
She screams in her head
Tears start streaming down her cheeks

She wants to sleep now
She wants to rest
She wants to feel home.
But she doesn't. She couldn't.
She doesn't know where the sheets are
She couldn't find where the sheets are.

“I don't live here anymore. This is not home."

She wanted to swim
If only her crutches
Let her.

She is a sweeper
She swept everything
Under the brown fuzzy rug
In her living room.

Old magazines
books
newspapers
Old photographs
records
love letters.

She swept them all
Under the brown fuzzy rug
In her living room.

One day
It turned into a hill.
All the things she swept
under the brown fuzzy rug
in her living room
turned into a hill.

But she didn't mind.
She kept sweeping
old friendships
romantic relationships
truth
lies
feelings
regrets
mistakes
apologies
forg­iveness
into the hill
under the brown fuzzy rug
in her living room.

The next day
The hill turned into a mountain
She didn't mind
And kept sweeping
Until it exploded

Broken hardwood floor
Burnt brown fuzzy rug
Everything scattered
In her living room.

She stood there
In the middle of the aftermath
Thinking
“Do i throw these all away?"

But she's a sweeper.
So she cleaned the mess
Swept everything back again
Under a new brown fuzzy rug
Laying on her basement floor.

If feelings can be held, then I dare you to hold mine.
I dare you to catch it with your bare hands.
I dare you to hold it tight.
I dare you to put it in your pocket.
I dare you to wear it on your sleeve.

If feelings can be heard, then I dare you to hear mine.
I dare you to catch its every whisper.
I dare you to hear its screams, its laughter, its sighs.
I dare you to hear its cries.
I dare you to hear it echo through your ears.
I dare you to listen to its pleading.

If feelings can be seen, then I dare you to see mine.
I dare you to look it in the eyes.
I dare you to stare at its wholeness.
I dare you to witness its unfolding.
I dare you to marvel at its being.
I dare you not to blink as it looks at you back.
I dare you to let it see beneath your soul.
I dare you to see its light.

And if these feelings can be felt, I dare you to feel mine.
I dare you to snuggle its warmth.
I dare you to shiver at its coldness.
I dare you to feel its corners, its edges, its curves.
I dare you to feel its beating.
I dare you to feel its breathing.
I dare you to feel it.
I dare you to feel its feelings.

I dare you to feel it.
I dare you to feel.
I dare you.