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Grateful, Yet Nostalgic

In the back of the house, shoes littered the floor and clothes mixed together in a laundered heap. A constant voice ringing out would tell the culprit to clean up and we’d look at each other, accusations ready to slip. We would go to separate corners routinely shoving things into small spaces, mumbling under our breath as we went. Until nightfall when we fell into our stacked beds that separated us, yet allowed peaceful sleep with an awareness of your presence. Day after day, it was the same game- it was fight after fight until we were forced to make up with nowhere else to go. On the other side of the house, shoes are in a line and clothes are in a hamper. There’s no voice telling me to clean. No one to look to and no one to blame. No small spaces for things to go. At nightfall when I retire to my bed I see my ceiling and not the bottom of your mattress and I lay there alone grateful, yet nostalgic.

Grateful, Yet Nostalgic

In the back of the house, shoes littered the floor and clothes mixed together in a laundered heap. A constant voice ringing out would...