The floor has rotted

and falled to the mossy ground below.

The roof caved in

and the walls could snap at any moment.

But I remember.

I remember when it used to be a place of freedom

where we could be anyone or do anything.

I remember it was mostly a castle,

while we were princesses

running from beastly dragons.

I remember when we turned into warriors,

throwing pinecones at intruders

or any threats that dared to enter.

I remember when it turned into a place of secrets,

a place of promises.

I remember when we used to talk about boys we liked

or people we hated.

But now,

our treehouse is a pile of rubble,

back where I used to live.

With all our childhood secrets

in the hands of a stranger.