left behind
like the hockey jerseys
and books
long forgotten
in your parents’ basement
collecting dust
a relic
of a past life
a memory
a stepping stone
onto bigger
better
newer
me, not so much
same old
same old
same old
i know i’ve
begun to fade
from colour to grey to
a vague memory
once in a while
tugging your
lips into a smile
finally,
whatever
happened to that girl?
you know the one
I
left behind
poor thing
she stayed there
and never
moved
on
cul-de-sac
the houses themselves
remain
virtually unchanged
progress
seemingly kept at bay
for now
at first glance
there’s a semblance
of suburban normalcy
look closer
if
you were to stand
with your nose
pressed against the window
of the blue house
on the end
your feet among the rhododendrons
thriving
despite bad weather
of late
you’d see
the same
cannot be said
of those inside
The Voice accepts fiction in all formats and genres. Contact voice@ausu.org for more information.