This House Has Heart

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Photo by Nick Wagner

By Victoria Clark

The petals fall lightly upon this place I call home. Each one falls once it is ready and gently lands on the surface of my heart. The floors creak softly beneath my careful footing. My weight pushes against the fragile floors and awakens the memories of everything and everyone who has ever crossed the room. When the air outside is crisp and cool, awaiting the break of a new season to dawn, the windows are cracked open. The breezes dance their way inside my house and flirt with the thin white curtains lying slightly agape across each window. Every wall is painted in bodacious shades of white and invites all doors of imagination to crack open enough to let in new creations.

Outside, where a world of green lightly brushes its seductive cheeks against the skies of blue, the blades of grass call out to me. I step with care, not wanting to disturb the earth, but letting it know I once walked here.

Outside, further in the oceans deep, I sit. Slowly, the world underwater moves around me, and pulls at my hair, my shoulders, and my waist to invite me further in. Each fish passes in curious wonder, and stares at its reflection in my eyes. Making their way down to join me on the ocean floor, the sun rays pierce the surface of the water.

Further, if the distance doesn’t scare me, I could rest on the dusty surface of a star in the depths of the universe. Here, within the chasms of my own mind, I find solace in the silence and simply sit in awe-struck wonder.

The home that I have created lives within me. The floors creak softly with each breath I take, the curtains beg me to dance in their glory, and the stars watch me with as much wonder as I stare at them with. My story, my home, shifts as easily as the keys moving through a piano song. Each melody, every key, sways with the movement of the ocean, and the winds encircle this earth in the hopes of unsteadying my world twig by leafy twig.

Sometimes there’s a hurricane where the walls shake and the windows shatter, and my knees hit the ground. The wind rips through my soul to take my breath away, yet I still step with care. I scream at the world saying, “I once walked here.”

Each drop of rain lands on a different path, and creates rivers and rushing waterfalls. Every day, there’s a new way to walk through this home I’ve built. My hands are cracked, hard, and covered in little scars from the memories I’ve been using as bricks to build my own little corner of the universe.

I’ve built a home on a planet I call my own. Here, among the thorns, the pouring rain, and the meteors, I have planted my feet and grown tall as a tree. Here, I’ve taken the arrows, the fallen snow, and the many memories forcing me to grow, and turned them into walls to run my fingers along as I walk. My home is intangible, yet I can still feel the wind as it pulses in my brain. I cannot waltz on these floors, open the windows, or walk out the doors. I cannot feel the dirt of the earth, the rain drops on my lips, or the dust of the moon. All I can do, from the corner of my heart I’ve built this home on, is smile, and know that I will never lose touch with this garden I’ve grown.

After all, this house has heart.

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