In the sun, in July, it looks the same outside.
But only if you squint.
I memorized the floor plans,
Of where everything should go,
           Should’ve gone,

Superimposed memories of the hallways,
They line the bedrooms, and
Panic attack if it doesn’t all fit
      if these aren’t the right people
      if the furniture has changed.

Want to put it all back the way it used to be,
Needs to be, or should be, and
Panic attack if I think about ghosts too long
      if I think about winter too much
      if I accept it is not the same
      and never will be.