Sitting in our house.
The air smells sweet
It smells like home.
A smell no one can create
The musty smell from the basement mixed with honeysuckle febreeze.
The air remains unchanged,
Unaltered by time.
Sitting here I hear the ticking clock
Time is passing by.
This room, this house I used to love
Soon, I must say my last goodbye.
The windchime you bought me this birthday past is singing.
My, what a glorious sound
Echoing the sound of motors revving and the strength of the wind coming without abound.
The air is still and crisp.
There is the faint smell of home
For a dwelling that is dwelled in
Should not have a beautiful smell
Because it’s a dwelling that sits alone.
But the smell is if my home. It smells like the day you left
The air is still and quiet
Just as it was when you took your last breathe.
The air becomes constricting
It’s cold and not so dear
The thought of your last breath in this house,
Why do I hold it so dear?
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