The Day We Moved

What Still Remains

The Day We Moved
On the day we moved,
the house was silent, saying nothing.
The nail marks left on the walls
remained behind—
a quiet memory we left behind.

On the day we moved,
even the familiar sunlight
that used to come through the window
felt almost like a stranger,
like a face I had never met before.

The days we laughed too loudly for no reason,
the nights I cried alone and fell asleep—
all of it was packed into bundles.
And the empty rooms,
which only then seemed so wide,
kept making me turn back.

Were there more days
when nothing much happened?
Feeling both grateful
and a little sad,
my feet would not move easily.

The neighbours—
next door, across the way, behind us.
The landlord we knew only just enough
to just say hello.
And the friends who shared our days.
I hope they are all doing well.

The lorry pulled away,
and the house grew smaller and smaller.
Yet one room, somewhere,
still had its light on,
inside me.
On the day we moved,
I left the house,
but the house did not leave me.

From time to time,
it feels as though it speaks softly,
asking me to come back and visit—
just once.

*These are my own paintings *