20200306

Day 2,007

The house never belonged to you.

You may have mortgaged it, you may have plastered the walls and tiled the bathrooms and painted the numbers in fresh bright paint but they were never your numbers. The walls and bathrooms were never your walls and bathrooms. You were as much a guest as any other you invited in.

And the house made sure you knew this.

It took photos from the albums and books and memories you brought with you and made them into living breathing things that asked you to go home. It wasn't so bad when it was cartoon animals or an aunt you met when you were three weeks old. They weren't personal to you in the same way your own parents were.

Seeing them again, alive, young and smiling nearly broke you the first time.Now you're just glad for the company, even if their only words are asking you to leave they're at least speaking to you and you're hearing their voices after so many years of silence.

Maybe one day the house will accept you and your parents will ask you to stay.

Until then you'll smile and tell the about your day.

You'll put down fresh carpets and you'll pretend the house is your home.

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