The Family House

now and then I come back to the house

where I was born

and each corner of it

is a museum of memories lived

the echoes of laughter and cries

still lingering in the air

the walls whispering tales

of joy, of sorrow, of mundane days

and extraordinary moments

each furniture telling its own story

like touching the time itself.

and I cant help relive each moment

that has happened there

and I break down and cry

and now and then I realize

what a relentless beast time is

and the only way to relive the past

is to live in it,

but that's not a way to live

and yet you can't help coming back

to the place that shaped you

watched you grow

molded you in the person you are now

all the bad and all the good

the love that was shared,

the pain that was endured,

all within these four walls

blended together in one piece of land

as if the house itself is a living entity

and is actively retelling you all the lives lived

as they flash before your very eyes

and it's the most overwhelming feeling you've felt

because all those lives are yours.