Imprinted on the glass, the paper,
Tiny symbols of life and love.
Sharing the memories of those who have lived here.
A constant reminder if these joyful moments.
I stroll through, running my fingers over the paper,
Staring across at the window.
My mind swells up with thoughts,
And those tiny little hands grab at my head,
They tug constantly at my heart strings.
It all reminds me of those times I tried to forget.
Everything rushed back into my mind,
And it overloads my body.
I feel as if the force of them knocks me over,
And I fall onto the glass, tears in my eyes.
When I push myself back up,
I've left a new set of hand prints,
And a new memory in this house.