This Place

Updated: Mar 11, 2020

Written by Daniel Lurie

How odd to think that the faces that walk

by me on the concrete—those that I know

but don’t know their names, will filter out

into the world, becoming the source of

someone’s smile, but a memory for me.

How watching that flickering streetlight

in the parking lot, never quite burn out,

even as the seasons change; almost like

senioritis, feeling like it is time to move

on, but not wanting to at the same time.

How I have lived in so many rooms in

the halls, that the numbers blur together

into one long equation. My entire life

stacked into just a few boxes in my

closet; I no longer decorate the shelves.

How I have cried, laughed, and loved,

almost as much as I have lost, but this

place has always been here to pick up

the pieces. After I leave, everything

here will be the same, but who will I be?

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