Some days I worry what my house thinks of me
These old walls watch and ponder about why I sleep in so late
Would she have chosen me?
A farmer once,
Stale smell of freshly shaven wool, a crunch of a pebble underneath a hoof alerts him of company.
Acres of field surrounded her like feathers to a peacock.
A family before me,
Twenty-two christmas mornings she watched. She also saw their children dress for graduation.
And leave.
Cracks in the wall shape a smile as she dreams how'd they once draw meadows and mountains on her thighs.
Today's Thursday, a terrified twenty-two year old telling tales of lies to impress his friends.
She knows who I really am, she doesn't mind either.
She's know she'll outlast my sleep-ins and tearful poems.
My magnolia tree too
Maybe I remind her of the boy before me
Maybe she's embarrassed.
Either way I'm apart of her history, and she apart of mine.
I'll remember the cold mornings making it so easy to sleep-in
That broken tap outside with the rhythmic drip.
Or how the stairs groan almost to complain from my arrival.
Yet, until my departure
Even in our last moments
We share memories
A chapter in each-other novels