Just a House

As I walked through that old house,

So different yet really just the same,

I felt like I was losing you again.

And my sister wept, though her voice was steady,

And her sunglasses hid the sorrow in her heart.

But it was just a house, just a house.

I ran my hands along the tiles in the bathroom,

On the wood of a long forgotten bookshelf,

And I mourned you all over again.

And my brother didn't cry, didn't gasp, didn't frown.

He loved this house, but hadn't known it for long.

But it was just a house, just a house.

I walked through the backyard, a lump in my throat.

And I stared at the ground where your dog's ashes lay,

And I almost wept for missing you.

And my father sat in this chair, and on that couch,

But he said nothing, made no reaction.

Because it's just a house, just a house.

And the house where you raised your grown children,

Was sold so many years ago.

And your grave is a place I haven't seen,

In oh so long.

And this house that's just a house,

Is tearing the life and love from my veins.

You've been gone for so long,

I can barely hear your voice.

But this house remembers you.

Though the years have covered your memory,

In this house I didn't have to look hard

To find your ghost.

It's just a house, just a house,

Just wood and concrete and nails.

My memories have drenched the foundations,

And the echoes of my childhood live on between its walls,

But it's just a house, just a house.

And what I'm losing yet again, is you.