September First

When everyone you have ever loved

Keeps moving away

And shedding all of the parts of themselves 

They did not care enough to keep

Until their voices are only faintly heard in sleep

Or else scribbled on the walls of their old room

Which you now inhabit. 

Too afraid to make yourself at home

Afraid of what it would mean 

To steal. 

You reside in nostalgia. 

And share only history.