Well I like to dress my house with fresh dainty flowers on the tables, soften the corners with lighted lamps, and dust the place delicately as if I was brushing off the excess blush from my own cheek.
My house really doesn’t mind if my hair looks goofy or if I am “being etiquette” in here…In fact it always listens to my theatrical monologues and has sworn to keep my untold secrets sealed beneath these walls…
I feel my house kind of enjoys my little tot’s giggles, the silly debates with my man and the overcooked aromas of my culinary… I just can’t explain how much I love it here – because where else in this big blue earth can I be myself so happily..and so carelessly!! And where else can I collect my yesterdays memories so perfectly..so vividly..
It’s just that (whispering) “It doesn’t like to be called house I must address it as MY SWEET HOME”
I know my home has feelings, and I respect that. If that sounds weird…well then, I am someone weird who has an undefinable relationship with my home. Period.