2109 N Forest

Dear House I Grew Up In,
I dont know if you remember me, but after all these years, I still find myself thinking about you and your neighborhood often. I remember the first time I saw you when I was four, before you were mine. I remember the trees in the backyard that seemed to touch the sky and the old couple who was selling you and how I thought they were going to leave that house and walk directly off to heaven. I remember walking to school on sidewalks littered with purplish-blue jacaranda flowers, and how if you stepped on them just right, they would make a snapping sound. And when Amy moved in next door with her long, blond, braided ponytails, I remember feeling that you had to be the best house, in the best neighborhood, in the entire world. It was in your backyard, right after playing basketball, and right before the boy shoved my brother's face in dog poop, that I kissed a boy for the first time. I could go on and on about my times with you. Of course, not all the times were good. I choose not to think about the bad things though. I know, all of the memories and all of the experiences, good and bad, shaped me and led me to who I have become.
I still see you sometimes. I drive by and hardly recognize you or the street that has been almost completely stripped of the giant trees that once lined and canopied it. I'm sure you wouldn't recognize me after all this time either. I'm not even close to being the same girl I once was. I think about the children who live there now, and if whoever has my bedroom also stares out the window every night making imaginary pictures in the trees, or hides under the covers with a flashlight and a book long after bedtime.
Some houses have a heart. Some houses have a personality. I have lived in many houses, but few have felt like home. Thank you for being a home.
Love,
Jodi