I chased the echoes of a place once mine,
where old streets whispered of borrowed time.
I longed for the past in hurried steps,
believing its arms would offer rest.
But time is a thief, its hands unkind,
turning warmth to cold, leaving ghosts behind.
Familiar walls now feel so tight,
memories dimmed by present light.
I begged the seasons to take me back,
to the city where my soul unpacked.
Where the air felt soft, the nights stood still,
where every breath was my own will.
Yet here I stand, in walls once known,
a stranger to the place I called home.
The sky looks down with distant eyes,
a world that speaks in foreign sighs.
Each holiday is a fleeting dream,
a moment caught in golden beams.
But dreams dissolve, and time moves fast,
dragging me back to a loveless past.
I scream in silence, beg in vain,
but walls don’t break, they just remain.
No path leads back, no doors unlock,
I am a prisoner of the clock.
The place I love is out of reach,
a fading ghost, a distant beach.
And so I stay where sorrow grows,
where hope is just a word that goes.