I go back to my first school. 

Heavy gates at the front squeaking. 

White brick walls in desperate need of cleaning. 

Little classrooms, filled with little desks. 

Playground covered with laughing kids. 

Wood chips that get stuck in everyone’s shoes.

Blacktop that is no longer black, but a dusty gray.

Muddy fields with grass that is not green.

It’s all still here. 

 

I go back to the beach. 

Bright sun beating down from high above.

Seagulls squawking and begging for food. 

Hot sand that gets everywhere and never goes away. 

Surfers riding every wave and showing off tricks.

Rocks beneath the surface of the water. 

Slimy seaweed that gets tangled around swimmers. 

Ice cold, salty water that inevitably gets swallowed.

It’s all still here.

 

I go back to the park.
Wind blowing through the trees. 

Swings creaking with children on them. 

The slide that always shocks anyone who goes down it.

Monkey bars that get too hot to touch.

Picnic tables that are too dirty to eat at.

Runners who never break a sweat.

Babies crying as their mothers try to shush them.

It’s all still here.

 

I go back to the mountains.

Crisp air that fills lungs with life. 

Squirrels scampering through the pine trees.

Cars parked at the overlook point.

Cabins tucked away in the quiet woods.
Lake with dragonflies buzzing all around. 

Campers huddled around the campfire at night.

Tents, so close to blowing over in the wind.

It’s all still here. 

 

I go back to my high school.

The cafeteria filled with hungry students.

Teachers lecturing for longer than is necessary.

Students falling asleep at their desks.

Textbooks that weigh a thousand pounds.

Whiteboards covered in smudges.
The gym that always smells like body odor.
Bleachers filled with students cheering on the game.

It’s all still here.

 

I go back to my house. 

Paint slowly chipping away from the walls. 

Wilting plants that are barely alive. 

The playroom still littered with toys.

Dog hair that covers every inch of everything.

The cluttered garage that was never organized.

The playhouse in the back still covered in spiders.

Neighborhood kids all playing in the street.

It’s all still here. 

 

I go back to what I thought was home. 

The school. 

The beach. 

The park.

The mountains. 

The high school.

The house. 

It’s all still here. 

But it’s not the same anymore. 

It’s not home.