This house is a lot of things. It is cold. The ocean breeze floats up this gentle hill swirling around through this woody enclave before it wistfully leaves to continue on east. It is warm. The villus of the carpet stretch out to sneak in past the gaps of the toes wrapping them in a warm embrace. It is comforting. Passing forth across the threshold I can feel all weight being lifted off my shoulders and a familiar ease enter into my bones. Above all, this house is quiet.
Every time I come to this house it sits quietly on this hill. A deafening silence embraces me through every hallway and room I walk through. I stand out on the balcony to look across the ocean and feel the breeze and it is quiet—still. At the same time this house is alive and noisy. As I sit hear covered in the silence, the walls speak with such volume the numerous memories they hold dear.
I hear the laughter of my childhood, the joyous exclamations of my fortunes and exploits, and the many cries of my pains. It has been many years since all these and still this house echoes them as if they had happened yesterday. As my hands run across these gentle walls ancient memories come back to life, to replay in my mind. It remembers better than I do. I can feel it talking to me, reminding me of all that we shared.
It sits here, steadfast, in this present quiet awaiting me to make a sound. Patiently longing for more memories and moments to be added to its brimming structure. But I have no sound to make anymore, no more memories to share. Others fill this house now. Their laughter, screams of delight, and tears fill this place. Their memories are now embedding themselves in this grand majestic place. Adding on to the memories that laid the foundation of my life…continuing the future so bright.
This house is home. I shall never live in it again but it will always be home.