The house still stands, though time has changed,
The paint is worn, the boards are stained.
The echoes hide within the halls,
Soft laughter etched in weathered walls.

I trace my fingers on the door,
The same one I had slammed before.
I hear the creak of wooden floors,
That once had felt my hurried steps,
Racing past to meet the world,
And leave behind my childhood rest.

The windows frame familiar sights,
The golden fields, the distant lights.
The tree I climbed, the fence I broke,
The fire where stories rose in smoke.

Now silence rests where voices filled,
And dust now coats the dreams we built.
But though the years have led me far,
The house still holds the things we are.

For time may pull, and time may bend,
Yet memories live where love begins.
And though I stand alone once more,
This house will know me evermore.