Returning footprints

The front door hangs loose,

light leaking through cracks,

a crooked grin to welcome me home.

Floorboards creak beneath

my hesitant footsteps,

old echoes stirred awake.

Bags spill stories

onto threadbare carpet,

tangled with years I left behind.

This house breathes dust and memories,

a place that holds my name

but never asks for answers.