Again and again, this same fascination.
After a weekend trip, I open my bedroom door.
The first thing I notice is the same odor.
My best guess is the smell of myself, lavender candles, vanilla lotion,
and a trace of laundry detergent from my slightly opened drawers.
The phone charger I hurriedly threw to the side, still on the floor,
still lying there helplessly, its wires tangled up and completely ignored.
Every image of my loved ones, still so young, no matter how old,
On the wall, each one tilted the same angle, just as before.
The only objects that know the concept of time are my flowers left in the cold.
They have shriveled; a few hints of saffron. Are my flowers turning yellow?
I quickly evolve when I travel, and to always return to where I was before
I had left, and to know I will experience this once more…
First poem I’m sharing online. (I was a bit hesitant.)
I’ll write about my trip later.