My Childhood Home Still Loves Me
I can feel it when I visit for the holidays. The closet at the end of the hallway still has a spot for me, tucked behind three rows of moth-eaten clothes and out-of season AC units. I don’t fit in the little nook as well as I used to, but I still find it comfortable.
God, I needed this place so much when I was younger. When tensions were high, when the voices downstairs got a little to loud, the unfinished walls offered a kind embrace, and the silverfish living in the debris danced softly around me.
I hope, when I’m dead in the ground, and the bugs burrow into my chest, that they can feel some of the same comfort. I hope they know that I love them, as much as that old house will still love me.