Grey Faded Home

Sometimes people can't see what makes home beautiful to you. Sometimes you need to look past the way it falls apart and just let it welcome you back.

 It was just a wood house in the middle of the forest. No one who had never been there before wouldn't have even known that it existed. Old, worn down, the house looked tired.

To just about anyone, it looked like an accident waiting to happen. No one looked at it without thinking that it should be pulled down. No one was willing to go in it for fear of death.

But to me, even with the wood fading grey from age, it felt like home. Anything new scared me with all the fancy decorating and such. My house, though hidden from the world, held everything I needed. Indoor plumbing existed, the kitchen worked wonderfully, but there weren't the unnecessary distractions that everyone else seemed to have.

It was the place that I grew up, the place where I fell in love. It was the place I missed most of all when I had to leave.

Today I went back. Today I went home. I just had to see how the little house in the forest was doing.

It was as grey as ever. The once clear meadow that used to surround it was covered in weeds. But the sky was blue, the sun was shining and it felt as welcoming as it had years ago. I was home.

Author's Note

Grey and gray are both correct spellings for the colour. And they mean the same thing.