a house that no longer exists

I stand in front of the empty lot, where my childhood home once stood. I remember the creaky wooden door, the smell of my mother's cooking, the sound of my father's laughter. But it's all gone now, replaced by a sleek new building that looks like it belongs in a different city. I think of the afternoons I spent playing in the street, the taste of the mangoes from the tree next door. I wonder what it means to lose a part of yourself, to see a piece of your history erased. I walk around the block, trying to remember the way the light fell on our house, the way the shadows danced on the walls. But everything looks different now, and I feel like a stranger in my own memories. I see a girl playing in the street, and for a moment, I think it's me, back in my own childhood. But she looks up, and I see a stranger's face, and I realize I'm just a ghost haunting the place where my home used to be.