everything here is old now, except for memories. once upon a time I was excited to have my own room. single bed, small dresser. a backyard that smelled of mint leaves and yellow roses. a swing. first a wooden one and then steel. we try to make things last around here. these walls have kept secrets of things we no longer talk about. we’ve given the house chances upon chances. one year we make the living room bigger. the next year we add another room. just like that eighteen years pass. every nook and corner has felt our feet and hands, sweat too. we know how to keep our hearts attached to things that are worn. from my home its become my parents home. my baby is here with me. i hope he too learns to love small places. and enjoys the smell of food filling up each room. and knows that each crack and tear tells a story. that sometimes letting go isn’t easy, even when it’s necessary. that home is a blessing the fortunate have. home sees fights and love. home is where you always find your way back. home reminds you of your beginnings. home is home.
