gently she sings as i lay me down to sleep,

a hopeful song of loss for the girl that once was me.

in this very room i toddled in diapers,

and crawled across the floor.

in this very room i twirled in sparkly dresses,

and tracked my growing height with pencil marks on the door.

the mourning dove sits outside my window,

a maternal feathered figure who bade me spread my wings.

“let her rest,” she says, “let her rest.

hold her in your heart and treat her kind,

but do not give into nostalgia,

it will only poison your mind.

leave this place and let it die.”