There are places that still remember

who I was, before I ever knew, what leaving felt like.

Grass used to be taller than me,

sunlight felt like laughter, my fingers stayed dirty from digging holes

to hide secrets l thought no one would ever find.

My laughter still stains the empty swing in backyard, woven into the creak of its chains, the hush of air moving through it,

like it's trying to call me home.

And I stand there older,

wondering how a bit of rope and sky

can still hold so much of

who l used to be...