It was never my intention to leave you standing outside.
I never heard a knock on the door, an unintentional contradiction of the welcome mat beneath anxious feet.
Though small, the hall extends to a larger room. Surrounded by two more rooms across from each other. Fair in size.
Prints of bare feet seep through thin socks;
The sharpness of your gaze. Cluttered in thought.
Remnants of the last place you stood.
Admiring now replaced siding.
The last time your back pressed against the side of the house, broken promises chipped off.
Weathered.
Nails pulled out and replaced with screws. An extra layer of tar paper.
You promised you'd return but never came back,
The decor of your essence repainted with a light tan, border still to be sanded down and nailed against fresh paint.
Moving from the room at the end of the hall,
Walking toward the front door then forgetting what I was going to do
