I am from...

I am from a neighborhood where the trees almost touch the sky, Bikes baking in the warm summer sun on the front lawn, Tree branches tapping on the windows as the sun falls, Bonfire pop as we roast hot do above the open fire. I am from the house with the cement step before the door, with creek of the stairs as you go to the middle floor with all the space awaiting to be filled with the sound of us Scream at each other one day it will no longer be. I am from the walls that whisper with my brothers screams, the click of the mouse under my dad's finger, the endless smell of baking with my mom in the kitchen, the yells of my mom calling us to dinner, all the exciting stories from the day that had past. I am from the endless screams of me and my siblings, the annoyed look on my parents faces, my brothers' ability to never stop talking, the endless smell of baking coming from the kitchen and the forever need to pump up balls in the summertime. I am from home.