Floral Seam

That hinge squeaked again.

A rusty complaint.

Took me back, instant.

To the borrowed paint.

The rented square,

my own for the first time.

A fragile kingdom,

built on a dime.

The kitchen had this paper,

faded flowers, pale green.

Peeling at the corner,

a forgotten scene.

I smoothed it down,

but it never stayed.

Like promises made,

then quickly unmade.

Four walls, a ceiling.

My own key in the lock.

A starting point,

steady as a rock.

Or so I thought then.

Just a place to be.

That first apartment,

just for me.