There's a sound I remember.
It came to me long ago, and it never went away.
It might be faint now, but I can still hear the sound drifting from the halls and into the door, throughout it and then to the lot where it was soft and comforting to me so many years ago.
It came through the air on a Tuesday night and while it was first a sign of passing time,
It soon became a bell that chimed to me my laughter and joy.
I would become excited at the sound which others thought noise,
A low sound that would crash like cymbals and a high sound that would whisper the names of all the people in it.
It would laugh with me and tell me the jokes of a twelve year old boy,
It would roll on the sidewalk like a skateboard and off my tongue like water on wax.
It was smooth and sweet and young, it was cluelessness and wonder,
And I never wanted it to go away.

But I left the sound once,
And when I returned it was in a different note,
It laughed a smaller laugh,
And it's previously boisterous self was a shadow
Of everything it could have been,