There's a house on a hill in a country that's more beautiful than I.

In the house there's a staircase that leads to the attic that holds something more precious than I.

It's a box full of memories of you as a child.

It's a diary, it's an album and little trinkets you picked up on your way along life.

There are stones and pictures, truths and lies.

They are mistakes and anger, and a little sadness inside.

And in that house, on that hill there's the kitchen where you'd always reside.

There's no bowls just huge mugs and that telescope by the window you use to watch the tides.

You used to tell me you wish we'd live by the sea side

And on unsuspecting evenings we'd go out on a boat ride.

Admiring the sea life

and then we'd watch the stars as it fades into night.

In that house there's a figurine you'd never leave out of sight.

Convinced it's antique, claimed from a vicious auction fight.

And an old music box that played broken tunes that never sounded right

but you'd dance till daylight.

And fall asleep on the floor ignoring the sunrise.

I could only smile.

But now this house on this hill, is empty and light.

No heavy footsteps, no random marches or game nights.

The strings in my heart, they pull tight.

And I had to leave to learn to breathe right.

But I come back every once in awhile.

Cause how could I ever forget the place you've spent all your life.

And I'd sit under the moonlight

Listening to the creaks and groans of the old house, the odd sounds that reminded me of your goodbye.
© WarningKoala