The walls of my childhood are plastered with flower wallpaper.
Pink and blue flowers that look like watercolor.
I sit in the kitchen, waiting for dinner, doing my homework.
The table, branded with wood cravings from myself and my sisters.
Little hearts and random shapes
because who wants to do another page of math problems.
But now, that table is my dad's desk.
Covered with bills and work notes.
Stock information and a plaque that reads
"Dad knows best but no one listens"
But the flowers still hang on the walls in the kitchen
untouched by time.