I had a house; I had a home
which came with me even when I was alone.
The house is still mine, and I'm still inside it,
but it is not mine. I can see from your smile;
it's the smile of a host with a long forgotten guest
and I sit at a distant from what were my friends.
I had a dream at some point last night
when I could escape from the dark looks of light.
I dreamt you were there and that we were laughing;
we were still young and we were just starting on the path of our future, those first shaking steps,
and then I awoke and we'd come to the end.
I'm not well versed in etiquette,
so I don't know if I should be leaving yet
from my house, from you,
from the sun and the soil from which I grew,
and the flowers which I planted when the sun still shone -
by the time they're at their tallest, will I be gone?
And someone else will water them and take care of my child
and paint my house with the colours of their own life.