Solastalgia

The dog died, the house was torn down, and the street was repaved. You hardly recognize the place despite having spent so many years here, craning your neck to see just how tall it is now, hearing the rush of traffic over what would have been grass in the breeze so many years ago. 
A man in a hard hat looks at you, annoyed. “You need to move.”
Wordlessly, you step away, pulled back to the arms of the road. Amid the din of construction and the smell of exhaust, you realize home was lost long, long ago.

Kacey Willow