I can see it

I can picture it

the lines behind the well

the people on the grass

leaning up against the trees

walking in and out of the buildings

rushing to be on time

sitting on the steps,

chatting with friends

books piled next the them

phones in hand,

texting across distances

too far for a day to comprehend

missing the place where they know when to wake up by the smell of breakfast

the place where they know what the screams on Monday mean

where lights are unnecessary, and feet work without brains

where safety is a blanket

and comfort is silent

where “image” means photograph, not perception

and laundry day means they didn’t get up until noon,

but also excites to be gone

not because they hated where they were

but just because they had somewhere to go

where adventure only takes a moment

and unfamiliar is around every corner

and silence can’t comfort

 the blanket is homesick,

and growing up means doing more homework

and getting less assignments

 

I can see it all in the tamped down grass

and the worn sidewalks

in the tarnished doorknobs

and the photos on the walls

and the papers in my hands

that tell me all I want to know

 

and I try not to think of myself on this grass

on those benches

in those rooms

but I see it anyways.

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