To see the past through a bedroom window

The top of the trees
young and green
swaying in front of a bright blue background

We can’t walk back along our timline
but we can
oh we can

Have you never wandered the road where you learned how to bike?
Touched the doorframe you used to grab while swinging around fastly
chasing a friend
a cake
a birthday surprise

Your timeline is written in footsteps,
through mud and concrete.

Bruised knees
and bleeding hands
the stretch of grass

Not your memories
but your actual line of time.

It’s tangled
red
all up in the trees
all around the garden

My mum hung these blue curtains,
and I sit on the mattress.

There’s a weight like a rock at the bottom of my heart.

I am not visiting.
The trees, this window:
they’re seemingly permanent.
It seems I can’t get away

but if there’s purpose I dropped along these roads I can’t remember it
I think: I have so much more of that in the future,
why am I still sitting here,
all tangled up in red.

2 thoughts on “To see the past through a bedroom window

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