never find a home
You walk these rainslick streets alone. Nothing is the same.
Whatever shaped your youth has been demolished, rebuilt or repurposed.
Maybe you were here to watch it happen.
Maybe you left before they could stop you.
Those cute little stories you write, those pretty pictures you draw:
they burrow in your mind,
yet they never find a home.
You present them with a smile,
but you aren’t really there.
Where did you wander off to?
Do you even consider coming back?