Remembering Neverland

My childhood was spent in a house in the mountains,

Second exit to the right and straight up the winding, dirt road.

I can still smell the poppies and pine trees.

I can still see the glimmers of mica catching the sun in the flower beds.

I would hug the trees as if they were my friends and drink the air as if it were my favorite tea.

It was an adventure.

I sometimes wonder if my grandfather’s laugh still permeates the halls,

and if the smell of a thousand Christmas mornings emanate from its walls.

I never got to say goodbye.

I suppose saying goodbye would mean to go away and forget,

and I can never forget.

 

 

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