Going Home

A long trek back,
Back to where I came from,
Through cold and snow,
Through sadness and fear,
Darkness and light,
Back home.
I stand on the doorstep,
Of number 1780,
On Greenborough Drive,
Wavering between turning back,
And ringing the doorbell.
Someone peeks,
Through the curtains,
A small head,
A face I don't remember.
For that face,
I ring the doorbell.
I Wait a moment.
Shift uncomfortably.
Crrrreeeeeaaaakkkkk
I look down,
A girl,
No taller than a sapling,
Stands curious and confused,
Doesn't cry for mom,
Doesn't ask who I am,
Just stares.
Right into my eyes.
"Come in, daddy.
I've been waiting for you."

Author's Note

Any advice is much appreciated!!