The door opens and the turning knob echoes against the drywall. The room takes its first breath. Light filters through bare windows, unclaimed, like a ghost light on a stage between plays.

We build a city of boxes - Sky scrapers ready to be demolished. Chairs scrape across the floor, finding their place in conversation’s orbit.

Plans for rugs, shades, colors, and crafts build a blue print in the rooms. Photographs lean against walls,their silence louder than any paint. The air shifts with laughter, pots being uncovered, and the tap of puppy paws.

Your paint covered pants tell the story of options. Unfurled carpets you’ve rebirthed for our home. The art you’ve made decorate the walls.

A house is only wood and stone, a home is what we choose to keep alive within it.