memories

my home doesn’t matter to you. not to make you seem rude, but it honestly doesn’t. because you don’t live there. you haven’t seen my mother’s smile and my dog’s laughing tongue. you haven’t jumped into our freezing pool on a cold September day, just for the thrill. you haven’t sat on our swing at the back of our yard and watched the sun set. you haven’t woken up in my bed early in the morning to the sound of rain falling. you haven’t ran smiling up our driveway with a letter clutched in your hand. and none of this matters to you - they’re just my memories. and that’s okay

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