Memories of Home

I have seen the faint flickers of grief in your eye,

The way your heart riffs off beat for a moment, then falls into despair.
You remember that place from your last life.
Isolated and crystalized in fog.
The house where the walls bleed.
Inhabited now only by ghosts.
A place where decay is coated in ivory and bestowed as love. 
A piece of you still resides there, 
Silent and undying beneath the floorboards.
Buried and yet breathing resentment.
A shadow that will forever be starved of light.
How long it’s been now.
How much you’ve grown since. 
So much so that the scars on your back have begun to spell forgiveness. 
Though they will always remain, 
Whispering hollow apologies while you sleep.