TRACES

This place is littered with memories.
Woven into the grass,
tucked in the cabinet corners,
slid between the window panes,
looking into the past.

There are scents
that bring sounds.
Stealing the present,
hiding behind closet doors,
waiting to be found.

Words split and fill rooms
and the tone stirs emotions.
Long since sleeping,
buried in time,
Shackles breaking from false conundrums.

So familiar is every creak of the floor
and hairline crack in the wall.
But, even with the faces,
there is still distance
and threads of change
that seems to leave only traces
of the child I was then
to the adult I am now.

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