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Nov 2020
There were three floors in my house.
three floors all full of my gratitude.

The first floor.
it held my bedroom.
this floor was hours spent gazing from my window seat,
it was long warm showers in winter-
and making sure I blew out my candle before it could burn down my curtains.

My second floor.
it belongs to my mother.
her kitchen, her T.V, her view of our backyard.
she made her tea here, yelled at the news, and watched my brothers play outside.
her favorite living room carpet that has now become ashes.

Our third floor.
the safest.
after all, heat rises.
it was my father's basement,
my brother's bedroom,
it's where we watched movies, played boardgames, and shed monopoly's great tears.
now it's all that remains.

We weren't home when the fire happened.
When my candle caught hold of our memories.

Maybe I should have seen it coming.
I was the one who chose the crisp campfire scent.
Written by
IZ J  15/F/Everywhere
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