The door was unlocked.
Doors are always unlocked it seems.
But there is never a welcome mat.
I've noticed that.
Floorboards protest my entrance and shadows linger in every corner so that I have to walk with one hand dragging lightly against the walls, leaving trails in the collected dust, memories of different-if-not-better times.
Childlike, I dance through rooms
where night lights have been left
because curtains are never pulled aside.
The sun has no business here.
I peek and peer,
softly advancing deeper and deeper,
I hear laughter and cries
but every bed is empty.
And the sun is setting.
On my way to the door, I notice the shadows have gone, and the dust isn't as thick. And the floorboards are holding their tongues...
The door is open.
Doors are always open when it's time to leave.
But there's a new welcome mat.
I noticed that.