see that house on the corner? the one with blue shutters.
I used to live there, you know.
I did.
and I had a room.
my very own room
with lilac walls and smooth wooden floors
perfect for twirling and sliding and slipping
and huge bay windows, my eyes to the world
that I’d draw on some misty mornings
and I loved how my fingers could wipe away the blur
and I’d look out at the stars and dream.
I had toys there, you know.
lots of dolls and bears and crayons.
sometimes I’d line them all up and sing for them.
and dance.
and they’d clap their hands and paws and cheer and throw flowers
with petals crafted from light-years of imagination
and we’d build tents together out of blankets and chairs
and tell spooky stories and cuddle when we got too scared.
I knew every nook and cranny in that room
every creaky floorboard, every crack in the plaster
was music to my ears, was a familiar face  
I knew it all by heart
like a song from my princess movies
which I loved very much, you know.

then one day we moved.
we packed up our memories
in boxes piled to the sky
and my teddies and dolls cried
from their bins in the van.
and I stood in the doorway of my empty room
just looked around for a while, you know.
and there were no tents or dance shows or anything.
not even one stray sock.
just bare lilac walls and smooth wooden floors
I tried twirling and sliding and slipping, but I couldn't.
everything I loved was no longer mine.
my friends were just absent furniture and toys
had they ever been anything more? I thought
as I climbed down the stairs
older.
wiser?
and I wondered if maybe a new girl would move in
and I wondered if she’d take my dolls and bears and crayons.