There's 2 versions of every house, the one that people see, and the one that stays awake after everyone leaves.
The house they photograph is never the house I know.
The real one breathes.
It remembers.
It holds things.
Every conversation.
Every song, every celebration, every goodbye.
Sometimes, I think these walls know more about me.
And I know about myself.
During the day, the house performs.
