Dear house on the way to work-
Pretty sure I’m in love with you. The trees that line your driveway and the stone chimney in the center of your roof. Your green door and white shingles. To me, you are perfect in every way. You make me dream of things like large family dinners and rocking chairs on the back porch and fireflies at dusk. I see familiar cars parked in the gravel driveway, dusty from a long drive and the people and their packages now unpacked. I hear children’s voices from the woods and dogs running across the lawn. I smell wood burning from a campfire and the sound of ice clinking in glasses being filled. I feel the heat of summer.
The other day a for sale sign appeared on your front lawn, and for a moment I allowed myself to dream even more deeply about what it would be like to call you home. To turn off a reading lamp at night before falling asleep within your walls. It’s as if I have been looking for you my whole life and still somewhere deep down do not believe that I deserve you. I don’t deserve the cars parked in the driveway and the groceries stacked on the counter and the fireflies off the back deck. It’s as if I will never allow myself for reasons I do not understand. A pact agreed to long ago.