I realized after talking to Janie, that I haven't posted the revised version of my initial letter to my house, so here it is:
Dear House,
We've spent so many wonderful years together,
and you've watched me grow
inside your walls.
So many times I've lifted my feet
to climb your yielding wooden steps.
I've slid my hands along your glossy railing,
ascending and descending.
I've lain across your creaking golden floorboards,
and you held me there: sturdy.
When I was with you,
it was okay to just be silent,
to sit inside you and breathe.
And I knew that you didn't expect anything from me.
You never asked me to explain myself
or to listen to your aches. And at night,
I slept well,
knowing your sloped ceiling would rest above me,
sheltering.
Perhaps I shouldn't have slammed your doors
or stomped my feet against your floor.
I never meant to hurt you;
you were always so giving.
And it's hard to say exactly
when we grew apart.
But still, I think about you.
I have your angles memorized,
where your walls meet your ceilings
and your corners form.
And your sounds are embedded deep -
the back door's thump,
the heater's purr,
the window's whine, and your soft whisper
that echoes through the vents.
I still love your smell of heat,
upstairs,
on summer afternoons,
and the feel
of your seeping chill on winter evenings.
I still walk through your narrow path in my dreams
and feel you in the dark.
And we still recognize each other when I visit,
that faint familiarity.
But it's distanced now,
as it should be,
because you are not my home.
You may not understand.
But I think, in time,
you will no longer miss me.
We will become old acquaintances,
who sometimes stop to say hello.
And I look forward to that day,
when we can greet each other with cheer.
Love always,
Your third daughter
