red house

red house

with panels like a barn.

farmhouse.

that's what it reminds me of.

and i'd like to one day

own a farm.

white picket fence,

horses, chickens, cows

dogs, cats, and goats.

i don't think they had a farm,

because they didn't have a fence,

and they didn't have a shed.

but i know they had a cat,

a cute grey tabby cat,

that they loved from the moment

they picked her up,

until the moment they held her in their arms

and sadly said "goodbye, one day

we will see you again,

my love, my love, my love."

they loved that house,

too.

they married in 1963,

and they moved into the house

when it was built in 1970.

from 1970 on, they built a life

and a family

and they cherished the roof

above their heads.

it was fifty-plus years that they lived

in that house together.

it had yellow walls

and off-white tiled floors

in the kitchen,

and, funnily enough,

a little dishwasher on wheels!

they loved that house,

with the fancy chandelier they got as a wedding gift

hung above the door.

blue floral wallpaper in the dining room

and a white, lacy tablecloth

on the wooden table.

they loved that house,

with the plaque in the hallway

that called the place their own.

rugs that looked brand new

and walls without a scatch,

a bay window that looked out into the quiet road.

they loved that house,

and on that house there was --

engraved in faded metal and placed on the door --

their names, together.

they loved that house

and its three bedrooms

that their children grew up in.

they loved that house

and its bathroom

with the window placed,

hilariously,

right inside the shower,

just in case,

ya know,

you got bored,

and felt like having a peek,

outside,

while you showered.

they loved that house

with the red panelled exterior

and the black shingles

and the dark roof.

they loved that house,

even with its leaking floors,

and its unfinished basement.

and...

i loved it, too.

i stepped into that house,

and it felt like home.

it felt like home more than any other house

had felt like home.

and i remember the excitement of looking around

and imagining the stories

that were written in the walls

in every room.

i wanted to build more memories into

that foundation,

and i was excited to start.

i planned how we'd fix up the basement,

and i picked out wall colors

and floor panels

and even the room that was to be mine.

and then,

all at once,

it was taken away

when another person offered money

in return to tear it down.

tear it down--

tear it down--

tear it down--

the house they loved,

the house i loved

that felt like home--

the tears

come

falling

down.

i don't think they would have wanted

for it to disappear

beneath that rubble.

i don't think they would have wanted

for all those years

and all those memories

to crumble.

for fifty years that house--

it stood tall

and it watched the family love.

it watched the children grow

and mark their heights on the wall.

it watched school pictures and first days

and it watched first dances and first dates

and it even watched the end.

but it only took one moment

and one decision

to allow all that to slip away.

i could have loved it --

the house.

i did love it --

that house.

red house

with red panels like a barn.

farmhouse.

just like they loved it, too.

they would have wanted

someone to love it, too.

so, what happened?

how did it all go wrong?

how did someone else become

the one

to make that choice?

they loved that house

and that house was supposed to

continue to be loved

long after they were gone.

so, what happened?

red house

with panels like a barn.

farmhouse.

you were so loved,

red house,

so how could they like you crumble?

with panels like a barn,

how could they,

farmhouse,

let

you

crumble?