I was from the gray house on the hill.

Afternoon bike rides to Culver’s,

ghost in the graveyard after dark

scorching weenies around the fire.

Now I’m from the small condo by the lake.

Sleep deprived by homework and Netflix,

parents divided by dissimilarity,

a sister that left me for college.

I was from singing and dancing in the summer.

Soaking slip-n-slides and water gun combat,

tubing down a snow-dusted Lisbon Hill

with hot chocolate and sugar cookies to devour afterwards.

Now I’m from stressing and overthinking,

planning for my future but remaining confused.

Eyes fixed to my phone,

missing out on new adventures.

I was from wanting to sit in the back of the bus,

anticipating the arrival of my birthdays.

Now I’m from missing the bike rides and slip-n-slides,

wishing I was still from that gray house on the hill.