LITERARY MAGAZINE 2014 KRCS MS Volume 5 | Página 10

The Thompson House
I can still remember the little yellow house.
Nestled between trees at the end of a dirt road,
It was quite a simple home,
Nothing more than peeling paint and crumbling wood.
But despite how ordinarily strange it was,
The Thompson House was a place
That you never forget,
No matter how far away from it,
You found yourself.
I believe that is because it doesn’t want to be
Forgotten.
It’s a place for wanderers,
People who had lost their way
Amongst the tragedy of lost love,
Love that was cracked,
And could never be pieced back together…….