For Magic and Memories. (Sonnet)

I don’t even recognize my neighborhood,
It just feels like I’m in the wrong hometown.
I don’t think I’ll ever come back around,
I honestly don’t know if I even could.
These are the streets of the misunderstood,
This is the block where we would lay face down.
These are the puddles in which we would drown,
Now we walk away though we said we never would.

This is the feeling of the once loved lost,
The emotion brought forth by the puddle of tears.
These are those streets we never crossed,
The ideas we never think of at any cost.
This is that ghost that reappears,
The one who leaves our old memories glossed.