white houses

Its been strange to be home, very strange.  I can look back on the little girl in high school, and I feel for her, I long to talk to her, to tell her it will be alright.  Who I am is so much different, so changed, from that girl.  I feel like, for the first time, I am completely separate from all of my life in high school.  All of the problems, the drama, the pains, it all seems far away; it does not touch me, it calls to me no emotion.  But then again, this isn't really 'home' is it?  It is, because it's the house I grew up, its where my parents live.  But it's not where my life is. It's not where I belong, where I fit.  A girl I knew, a girl I know well, lived here.  It's strange, moving forward.  It's strange, letting go.  

We drive,

past the cool houses

white and beige and stucco-covered

lit up, luminious, hovering above us in the dark

They intimidate and mystify like the stars

(or so their owners hope)

and we nestled into them, long ago

someone we once knew

was nestled into them.

 

The songs we used to listen to in the parking lot

the haze of early morning still on us

These songs-they had meaning, they taught us truths

(or so we thought)

and they fit our lives, our moments

a perfect backdrop to everything.

We listen to these songs now,

singing, screaming along to them

they are so far behind us,

like picture books, photo albums,

we can feel moving, somewhere deep inside.

 

As we run, barefoot

Through  a large

24-hour

city-sized

florescent-lit

store

Through the heavy halls

of memories

of papers, planning and scandal

Through the endless playground

of perfectly placed trees

winding roads

matching mailboxes

white houses

We know we are no longer home.

 

Taking a deep breath

we have sung it all out

All of the things we held so tightly

have flown out the window;

lost to the cool darkness

that wraps herself around us.

And so we propel ourselves forward,

Forgiven.