Maybe it’s the sting of salt in the back of my throat
Maybe it’s the steady beat of the ceiling fan
Maybe it’s the whisper of my mom’s guitar over blaring music
Maybe it’s my warm hand resting against the icy and windowpane
Maybe it’s my mouth’s possession of chewed wheat sticks
Maybe it’s the scent of spices roaming the deserted halls
Maybe it’s the digital clock face staring right through me
Maybe it’s the lollipop red Tupperware cover invading my peripheral vision
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep tugging at my eyelids
Maybe it’s the creak of the settling stairs

Maybe I’m growing older