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It was a small complex - maybe 10 units.
Everyone had the same layout and the same two steps in front of the same front door.
The teacher lady across the courtyard always peaked out her blinds.
The 6 year old twins would leave their toys about.
The single old man listened to the news too loud.
And we decided to call it home.
On the steps in front of the door we sat and celebrated with a cheap cigar and a box of wine.
The lady slammed her window, the twins were sound asleep, and the old man tipped his hat.
Our music was the harmony of crickets and a California sunset.
Our conversations included silence and soul-searching.
I can still smell the apartment and it's innocent walls.
On the steps in front of the door we sat and made memories.
I, a young know-it-all who needed security but suffered from boredom, and you,
a teddy-bear of a man longing for Johnny and June kind-of-love.
Evening tea, record's playing, incense burning, and our soul's grew bigger than our tiny one bedroom.
Two September's past and the teacher lady never talked to us, the twins were now in little-league, and the old man hadn't aged a day.
On the steps in front of the door we were worlds away.
You, the sweetest man.
The crickets weren't enough for me - the security couldn't keep me.
On the steps in front of the door I kissed you no more.
The teacher lady, the twins, and the old man watched as we broke our home.
It was a small complex. Too small to keep me.

#NaPoWriMo