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by Emily Davidson

home;
the smell of my bedroom
familiar, comforting
but stirring
the past within me

the dried flowers on the
corner of the shelf collecting dust,
the left side of my bed
where he used to sleep,
the bathroom floor where he
sat and kissed every inch of me

i do not normally think of him
i do not normally miss him
but being home,
it is inevitable

11/30/2006

Author's Note: not a work i'm crazy about, but just something to be said.

Posted on 11/30/2006
Copyright © 2024 Emily Davidson

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