End of March

There are places where I want to be. Places that feels like home. Places that breathe slowly in my chest. I remember them. I miss them so much, these ghosts places where I used to walk, where I used to breathe. I take them and fold them upon one another. Like candy wrappers and pieces of paper with the name and phone number of somebody you wish you could see again. Tucked away in the corner of your pocket, half forgotten, to be found again in the washing machine, all torn up and barely recognizable. Number faded, name erased.
All that is left are pieces of what you remember was there. Suddenly made more precious by its loss. I fold these places inside my mind and heart until all that is left are hazy memories of what they once were.
So I can absorb them into myself and morph them into inner landscapes.
So that, no matter the distance, I can breathe them everyday.
I fold them and fit them inside my chest, so that they can fill the dark corners of the places where I don't want to be.
So that they become worlds for me to travel in, never to have to feel the ache of their loss again.