This Place

Updated: Mar 11

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?

Contact The Retort

  • White Facebook Icon
  • White Instagram Icon
  • White Google Play Icon