There Is No Easter Bunny

I have images of a strange house that felt like home, filled with strangers that felt like family. A bed that was too small, yet felt like the biggest bed in the world. Trips to Wegman's that set the night and felt like a vacation in Disney World. Riding on the passenger side and smiling at the joy it gave. No thoughts of the miles to home, just the time we had left. The tour of the town that felt like my own. The careless hours and countless Sunday drives. The skylight and broken locks. Pretzels and relish. The backyard and endangered insects. Garlic salt. Mix CD's and fading dreams. Testing time for those extra hours. The long awaited appointment. Dinners, movies and music. Noir and Teas. Sunday walkers and Pumpkin ice cream. Alfredo sauce. Doorstep. No looking back.