A corner to call my own..
I once dreamed of a Forever Home.
I saw houses in American Magazines. They had been in a family for generations.
Some had been occupied since the 1800s.
They had a basement, an Attic, land, a beautiful garden.
Memories laced the corridors.
I gazed at the bedrooms, and loved to read the stories.
Engagements, Weddings had all happened under that roof.
Sepia photographs told a story of building on virgin land, Wars, sorrow, joy.
I wanted to have such a home.
It would be by the sea. We would have a garden, rose bushes.
A white Attic would store memories.
I wondered which Country we would build in, where would we go?
Our present home is in suburbia. It is the same as all the other houses.
We only meant to be here for a while, but we cannot afford to move.
We did not invest in the house, and it became dilapidated.
To restore the house, we began to tackle each room.
We lifted the carpets, pulled down curtains.
We installed a shower, a new kitchen.
But we only meant to get it ready for sale.
Houses prices began to rise.
We could not hope to move.
But when I look around, this house has changed.
Every flower, bush in the garden was chosen by ourselves.
The trees have stretched from saplings.
Family pets have died here, and we visit their graves in the garden.
The house reflects our personality now.
We chose the paint colours, the style.
I still would love a Forever Home.
I would like to live by the sea.
I would love rose bushes, an Orchard, a small Wood.
But I do feel more settled in our present home, and less restless.