The House Where Seasons Wait

There’s a house at the edge of the fading lane,

Its windows pressed with dust and rain,

The paint is cracked, the roof leans low,

But the garden still remembers to grow.

The door still creaks the way it did,

When laughter bloomed where secrets hid,

Each room still hums a gentle song,

Of all the days when love was strong.

The curtains breathe with a ghostly sway,

As if they know you’ve gone away,

Yet every breeze that stirs the air,

Carries your name, still waiting there.

The floors are worn, yet warm to tread,

They keep the whispers the walls once said,

And though the seasons come and pass,

They find no reason to change the grass.

I stand outside, too scared to knock,

For time can’t turn the stubborn clock,

But in my heart, I know it’s true —

The house still waits… the way I do.

Thank you for reading ❤️ ❤️ ❤️