What has always been here

This feels like a question.
Go to my heart.
The key is pretty obvious, it’s under the planter with the rosemary. Let yourself in.
Feel free to grab a beer, there’s some leftover music, some leftover emotions and I left out some important parts. Feel free to use the upstairs and if you see a woman in the back, that’s my languishing memories of the day I met my real father, and the wandering cats who raised me like a wolf pup, licking my fur off, opening my tiny eyes to this world.
They won’t let you pick them up but if you sit down and wait a while they’ll climb on you.