Sight

I am walking barefoot up a familiar street when I come to a sudden stop at mailbox 62, which is directly across from 43. I had to stop there because seeing that house again causes the floodgates to open and all the memories come rushing so fast all I can do is stop in my tracks and reminisce. So I sit down and stare at the house before me, trying to remember all the little things. I close my eyes and see my room and the walls. The walls are special because they're covered in letters, decorated envelopes, lyrics, inside jokes, and signatures. My life was written on four walls. I see the rest of my room and focus on my bed. Memories of my friends and I having late night talks there start to blur together. I change my gaze to my door, which is open so my eyes are drawn to the afternoon sun shining through the living room. So many things come to mind when I see that room. I remember all the game nights with family over the holidays, summer parties full of silliness inside to avoid the heat outside, and I remember holding my nieces when they were newborns on the couch right where the sun shines the brightest through the window.  I look out the window now and see the time when it wasn't so sunny. When the storm was so bad the trees were bending to the ground and the rain was hitting the window so hard and with so much water that it looked like a watercolor painting. This makes me look out the other window above the sink in the kitchen. I remember staring out that window and admiring my mother's beautiful flowers on the porch. It was almost like a greenhouse and I loved it so. I look past the flowers and see the yard where we had water-balloon fights, played hide-n-seek in the dark, and star-gazed. I snap back to reality here. Maybe the new owners of my house won't mind if I walk around the back. I decided to do it and on the way I peeked in the porch window. No one was home. So I lay down on the grass and stare into the sky, smiling.