“We just let people be where they’re at, until they’re ready to be okay with it.”
“A House is Just a House”
Fiction. Based on a True Dwelling.
All journal entries are inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Your house represents the home of your family.
The space in which your portraits paint the walls.
A haven, wrapping you in warmth.
The aroma of chocolate chip cookies dances up the staircase to your room.
Your house represents the place you live.
The stopping place between different jobs.
A bit too snug, without the proper amenities.
The heat of summer lingers in the carpet and walls, long after you fall asleep.
Your house exists among countless rental listings.
Just a number among thousands of prices too high to pay.
With walls painted green or orange, always refusing your cat.
You dream of having a window of your own, to gaze out at the stars.
Your house rolls from city to country.
The four doors with their broken power locks.
A backseat that looks out at a new school every year.
You cannot remember if A comes before B or if 2 comes after 3.
Your house is at the corner of 8th and Pear.
The square of tear-stained pavement.
A muddy fleece blanket and dog-eared book claim your spot.
You cannot remember the last time you slept through the night.
You wake up in a place you’ve never seen.
Existing without looking around.
You’re okay with wherever you are at.
A house is just a house.