Home Again

Returning to the creaking staircase, I pause,

each step familiar, each groan a song,

that welcomes me back to the weight of the past,

the dust in the corners that knows my secrets,

and the scent of old wood, memory-tinged,

where my stuffed bear once held every tear,

hidden now in a box, but oh, how it comforts—

a relic of who I was, who I might still be.

The walls press in, a quiet embrace,

with echoes of laughter, arguments that hung

like the faded wallpaper, peeling slightly,

the crinkle of time etched in the fabric,

reminding me that home is both anchor and sail,

a place where I grapple with ghosts and my skin,

the very shape of my heart mapped out in rooms,

as I find a new rhythm in the old heartbeat.