A story that is older than my memories

A story that is older than my memories.
That's where I'll find you. That's where home is.

When I take the road that leads to our old crooked shack,
I'd feel the soil takes me deeper than my feet could ever wander.
At a distance, through the window, I'd see the flickering light of the fire
that we use to warm our tea in the morning.

And when I come running towards our old crooked shack,
I'd hear fragments of the song that you keep on playing
while you sit by the window strumming your guitar.
And then I'd hum with you I know the tune by heart
because it's the song you wrote for my last birthday.

When I see the swing you put up yourself on the balcony of our old crooked shack,
I'd start reciting the poems you and I used to read to each other
right before we go to sleep at night.
And I'd remember how you made me feel every single time,
every line and word that comes out of your lips, so powerful in the
way they would flow through mine.

Standing on the exact same spot outside our old crooked shack,
where we laid out blankets and pillows and lie down on the cold grass
to watch the stars and forget the world for awhile,
where we talk about our dreams and how you would love to paint
or take me to ride on a canoe some day.
And then we'd fall asleep holding each other while the
stars look down upon us.

The language we use is far older than the first time we truly learned to speak.
Because there is just something about the silence,
the way it seemed to connect us in ways like language never could.
Like when you gingerly touch my face, or smoothly run your fingers through my hair,
or when you embrace me long enough to forget all the pain,
Or even just the flowers you pick every morning so
I'd see them when I wake up,
and the knowing look you give me
like a secret between you, me, in otherworldly.

How wistful this one is, to think of
a story that is older than my memories.
Where I'll find you. Where home is.

But right now your face is still a blur. We are still a blur.
I do not know until when I'll probably stay here
but when I'm gone and my body has finally returned to stardusts
and be recreated once again,
I'd look for our old crooked shack.
I'd look beyond my memories.
And know that I'll always find you.
I will always will.
I will always go home.


(v.a.)