The Poetry Snapshot: Lost and Found

I know of an old house,
with crumbling patterned wallpaper and rusting photo frames.
Somehow, it holds its ground while continuing to burn in flames.
It consumes those within;
closing its doors behind all those who once curiously came in.

Abandoned for a while now
and forgotten by outsiders,
this house
is not
empty.
It traps its stories inside.

Every mirror reflecting its past glory and ticking clocks recounting its pride.
All those moments gone and memories lost are found within this house.

So I enter hoping to remember;
hoping to reminisce.

And at first,
the sight of old corduroy couches brought me back.
I know these steps, I know these floors.
I know this dining room window light.
And i’ve missed it.

If I could bottle up the way the sun hit the walls every morning
and drink it for breakfast
I would.
I felt comfort in the arms of the past,
trying to make each and every memory last.

But there were holes.
Unfamiliar corners
and new scents
that kept appearing.
Shadows tainting my precious memories
like invasive vines wrapping tightly around a tree.
I was suffocating.

The more time I spent in this house searching
the more it took from me,
until I had to face what I tried to ignore.
Sometimes, what’s lost shouldn’t be looked for.