She’s old, this house. Not ancient or historically noteworthy, but she’s lived things. She’s seen things. Things I will never know. Her foundation is strong. She’s sturdy, even after all these years.

I love her, this house. It’s taken some time, but learned to love her. She’s not perfect, you see. Not even close. She has aches and pains and some deep wounds from being unloved for so many years. I hope she knows it wasn’t her fault.