Welcome home.
The screen door is ripped,
barely hanging on its hinges.
You come inside and
your old dog-
the one you've had since you were little-
comes running on his short, stubby legs.
You look over and see your niece
with spaghetti sauce all over her face.
The floor, the table, her hands.
You smile.
This is home.

You look out the window and see the old tree-
the makeshift tree house gone
for fear of being unsafe, but
the nails can still be seen
randomly stuck out of its trunk.

An old rope hangs from the tree, gently swaying in the breeze.
You turn back to the kitchen and
can see
the dented cupboard.
The one you used to climb with your brothers.
The one you fell out of
and got 7 stitches.

Next to the cupboard,
you can see the faint lines on the wall.
The one your dad tried to paint over after all their kids moved out-
too old to draw with markers on the walls.

You can go anywhere within a 5 mile radius-
see all the imperfections.
But that's where you grew up-
thats where the memories are.
You can look around and see
where you laughed,
you played,
you fell down and scraped you knee-
and love that place so much.
You love it so much for the memories it gives you.

Welcome Home.