What Remains

Here I am, back again, To this house of memories wrapped in pain. Once it echoed with carefree cheer, Now it hums with love — and a trace of fear. It doesn’t feel like home no more, Though it’s the same old house. Same rustling curtains, same swaying trees. The hallway echoes with quieter feet, No chaos, no calls, no stomping beat. Home was a feeling — loud and bold, Now it feels distant, tender, old. Used to fight my sister for the last sweet slice, We'd scream and laugh, no need to think twice. Now she says, with a soft little grin, “Take it — you don’t live here like I’ve always been.” The cake still tastes like yesterday, But the fight — the fun — has slipped away. Used to eat whatever Mom would make, Now she serves my favorite dish — hands slightly shake. Each spoonful seasoned with silent grace, A mother’s love time can’t erase. But behind her smile, I see it clear — A mother missing days when I was near. Relatives come with their velvet tones, “So grown up!”, they say, in practiced drones. Small talk like sugar melting in tea, Warm but hollow — not quite me. Mom once woke me with her voice like light, Now she whispers, “Sleep in, just for tonight.” She lingers at the doorway, stares for a while, As