The door creaks open, unfamiliar faces
greet my awkward smile, hands clutching
a bouquet meant for another tale.
The petals, vibrant yet misplaced,
speak a language of their own,
as if whispering secrets of longing
in this unintended sanctuary.
A school uniform hangs by the door,
a reminder of days structured,
of paths once clear and known.
I find solace in the rhythm of
memories that dance quietly,
even as the present stumbles
through the corridors of my heart.
I leave the flowers behind,
a token of unintended affection,
realizing that not all journeys
require a return to their start.
The road bends away, inviting
new stories to unfold, teaching
riddles of longing that need not return.