The House

I wrote this at the time I reluctantly moved house last year

I believe houses and buildings have feelings,

The memories they hold are far to potent.

My home is bare now. 

Not a poster on the wall or a coin down the sofa.

Bare walls, bare carpets, bare rooms.

The kitchen where I used to bake and eat my breakfast half asleep,

With my eyes shut to block out the sunlight of a new day.

The dining room with the piano.

Memories of beautiful music,

Aching fingers,

Dancing fairies.

The living room,

Where I sat and watched a screen of moving pictures until I forgot reality.

The christmas tree in the corner with my presents under,

My stage, 

My heart.

The garden with the blue slide which became a castle,

Child games,

Hula Hoops and bikes

Covered in bruises until it got dark.

My Bedroom,

My haven, my hospital and my comfort.

My windowsill which I used as a library when i couldn't sleep.

It watched me as I cried, laughed, jumped around.

The first time I ever got naked with a boy who meant something to me,

And the first time I vomited from drinking to much.

The first time I fell in love and the first time my heart broke.

Yes, the walls look clean and the floorboards can be seen.

But the house?

The house is not bare until the memories demolish with it into dust,

And take my sticky finger prints and blu tack marks with it. 

Reviews

[workingmyeunoia]

LOVE LOVE LOVE! Is she going off to college? Or just moving? Please tell me :)

[Ethereal flower]

Thank you! I am glad you like it! It was just moving house!:)

[workingmyeunoia]

You're very much welcome and please write more :)