It’d been a while since I’d step foot in this place.
It’d held so many bad memories, brought to mind all the tears I’d cried the instant my soles touched the tile. Brought an aching to my heart that I could hardly explain to anyone once I’d manage to free myself of it’s hold. With each stride the grip grew tighter around my soul.
I’d been told that sometimes closure can’t come without reopening old wounds, and I’ve never been sure of how true or untrue that might be. Surely wasn’t sure if I wanted to bother with finding out, not even for the purpose of ‘healing’.
The walls were now baren, stripped of the smiling faces and colorful scenery. Free of lovers embracing, free of babies and all the spaces that brought about unbridled joy and happiness.
The white walls now a stained yellow, years of neglect and decay settled in with a stale stench that reminded me of the old wooden homes occupied and owned by the elders in my youth. I hadn’t thought about it in years, and yet, in an instant I missed the simplicity of it all.
It became quite funny, for only a moment, how the thought of childhood could bring back both fleeting excitement and everlasting grief.
Into each room I meandered, taking mental note of every missing patch, every creaking board, every tear that fell when a memory came dashing before my eyes.
I felt every emotion possible, and nothing all at once.
I felt caged once more, and prayed for total freedom to follow.