Looking past the brown leaves covering the cement and past the old tree barks, I see a very young me at the age of 12 and my sisters running up and down the alley behind my house back home.
It's Fall there, I can't stop looking at the beautiful red, yellow, and brown leaves scattered everywhere. Our tiny feet walking over them, I can hear the crisp sounds so clearly right now as I stand on the bare cement ground of my yard during the spring season here in Arizona.
Taking a deep breath in, I can clearly smell the rain awaiting to erupt through the clouds as I try to tag my sisters. Out of breath from running, we decide to go inside for a quick drink. Mom didn't let us out anymore because it started to pour outside.
So, there I sat on the couch in the living room facing the window to not miss the drops of rain that hit the ground. I imagined myself free and older. Much older. The picture was vague and I gave up.
Now that I am 22, I refuse to imagine myself any older, and I don't foresee the future. I just live each day as it comes. I walk over to my car and pull the handle. I decide to go to work a bit early. I hear Chicago calling me, but I continue looking ahead and go through life at present time.
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Reata,
ReplyDeleteI very much enjoyed this poem. I love how descriptive you were when you were talking about "home" and how we don't really know where that is until the end of the story. How home had wonderful sights, and smells and memories, but just like when you were imagining your future, your present was portrayed as vague. Very ncie job, I really enoyed this one. :)