I'd try,
I'd go back there again,
if there was anything left,
undo the locks,
open the gate,
walk back inside.
Take a tour of the grounds,
walk through disused corridors,
leading to shut off rooms.
There was a garden in the middle once
full of sunlight
and promise,
a bench by a fountain,
where once I kissed a pretty girl,
and thought I was in love.
I'll just hold onto this key,
leave the estate and grounds untouched,
under layers of dust and leaves.
But I might walk past the gate sometimes,
when I close my eyes,
put my hand on the rusting iron,
and remember.
