3776

There’s something poetic in what I see

The way this house reminds me of me.

Pretty, but weathered, worn by time,

Crawling with ghosts in dust and grime.

Abandoned long, yet standing still,

With silent walls and iron will.

Cracked on the surface, empty inside,

Yet built with strength that storms can’t hide.

You’ve held your breath through years of pain,

Through leaks and creaks and weathered rain.

Still, I can see what others missed

A heart beneath the mold and mist.

A place for love, a place to grow,

A place that simply needs it slow.

You need repair yes, that is true

But so did I and now there’s you.

Your bones are strong, your soul is deep,

And here’s a promise I will keep

With care and light and steady grace,

We’ll patch each wound and hold this space.

Because someone looked, and saw your worth,

Not just the rot, but sacred earth.

A refuge, waiting to be found,

With roots still firm beneath the ground.

And now I sit in quiet peace,

With heavy thoughts that found release.

This house, this self, this space so wide

For once, I don’t need to hide.

I’ve never felt this safe, this free,

So full, alone, yet wholly me.

This house and I, both worn, both tried

Still opened up, and let love inside.

You were ready when I fell apart,

When grief and need had filled my heart.

You welcomed me, a broken guest

And let me make this place my rest.

The irony, and yet the grace

What once was lost became my place.

And in these rooms, I finally see

This home was always meant for me.