Looking out my childhood window
or at least a fragmented fake version of it my mind has rebuilt from memories
I’m inclined to see grass lawn, raindrops on window
urge to be alone, safe, control
I don’t even know if these are memories now
maybe they’re just a concatenation of films, music, poems, memories, optinions
So I’m up here again, breathing this warm dry air
opening boxes that just catapult me, rabbit holing
thinking about what you thought, felt, dreamed about, aspired to be
wishing I’d asked you all that whilst I still had time
all the things now I see with the lens of being older, a parent
I’d give anything just to converse with you
connect with you in a different way
but the truth is I can’t
and as much as I stare from windows, open boxes of letters
flick through photo albums
touch the things you touch
go where you went
I can’t change it.