Most everything is packed, now.
Moving week and this home is now a house. Everything has changed: personal comforts disassembled. Brown boxes obscure, growing tall in a cardboard and unfamiliar forest.
One last time, I hope to see something I might know.
Some sunlight reveals a clearing and a resting place. Over there–on that empty sofa–I laughed with you and shared a bottle of warm, red wine. Treasures hide here, too. Inside this box waits an anniversary card, a blue ink scrawl and amateurish effort of love to make you smile. Dust-covered photos of smiling times, these jewels lie buried under container lids to be rediscovered again.
But I leave this place. The air lingers heavy and hushed further inside this forest. It is dark and dense and haunted.
Like a ghost, my life was here. Will others know this too? Will they clear this forest and see these spirits that may linger?
But soon, I will escape and be away in some distant place.
A past and present here. A future, somewhere. But I will be gone from this once-familiar house.