Empty again is this tall-ceilinged room;
a roaring fan that always blows.
The constant whirring of fly-ridden lights,
dim-lit, but enough to see;
as it was before, but not the same.
The walls are still the sad, white tone,
the floorboards are worn and dull.
The wood's scratches have grown
from our endless days of rising;
as it was before, but not the same.
The room is no longer furnished,
its cupboards and closets empty.
Contents are packed away in overstuffed cases,
only some of their items in use;
As it was before, but not the same.
The sunlight streams are cut by blinds,
reflected by our neighboring home.
The glow fills our room, not all the way,
but enough to reveal the pleasant day;
as it was before, but not the same.
Noises are still abounding from the road outside,
from the conversations of those who walk by.
The groaning of buses and cars, and
the trotting of horses and carts;
as it was before, but not the same.
At times the sounds are from within,
the slamming of doors, the stomping of feet,
the crash of something dropped, or
the dryer and boiler rumbling;
as it was before, but not the same.
And the buzzing of the tungsten lights,
the random howls of the air conditioning,
the loudness of our home, from its creaking and its guests.
Its ornateness, coziness, and charm;
I'll be away from, and it won't be the same.
I’ll miss the little quirks of our little space,
The gorgeous street we lived upon;
The school that reignited my love to learn;
In this coastline city I could once call home;
Once before, and maybe one day again.