Echoes of Home

This hallway holds whispers, not meant to speak,

a fragrance of burnt toast, a childhood unique.

The carpet wears thin, so many footsteps past,

a line of old arguments, shadows are cast.

I shuffle through echoes of laughter and tears,

memories winding through lingering years.

A voice caught between what was said and unsaid,

lost in the silence of words that we dread.

Stretched like a canvas of stories, it holds,

a testament carved where life gently unfolds.

In this narrow passage, I stand in between,

haunted by moments where I’ve never been.