a

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

From

the

office

upstairs

I

can

crack

a

window

and

hear

everything,

inside

and

out.

I

hear

the

birds,

my

own

typing

and

creaking,

dog

running.

I

want

to

be

my

house.

My

house

is

old

and

wise.

It

braces.

tough

weather,

with

strong

winds

it

only

creeks

and

groans.

Even

when

the

rain

spits,

and

the

wind

screams,

it

holds.

The

weather

is

outside

on

a

suddenly

violent

Tuesday

morning,

when

the

sky

darkens

quickly

and

people

scurry

to

shelter.

The

weather

is

also

in

the

basement,

on

an

armchair,

screaming

and

crying.

Or

on

a

bed

on

the

second

floor,

churning

and

throwing.

Nonetheless,

the

house

has

learned

not

to

move.

No









matter

how





loud

and

strong


the

storms









are.

A

good

house

is

one

like

this,

that

has

absorbed

hatred

and

has

loved

in

return.




My

room

doesn't

get

much

sunlight.

My

brother's

gets

a

bit

more

in

the

morning,

which

is

a

shame

because

he

keeps

his

curtains

closed.

If

I

had

more

sun,

the

curtains

would

be

open

all

morning

and

I

would

never

have

to

leave

my

bed.

And

if

my

room

caught

some

afternoon

sunlight,

maybe

I

would've

learned

to

take

more

naps.

I

always

wished

that

my

house

were

warmer.

Winter,

to

me,

is

waking

up

early

in

the

morning

and

walking

barefoot

on

the

chilled

wooden

floor.

I've

been

going

on

night

runs,

when

the

sky

is

dark

and

the

streetlights

are

golden.

My

favorite

part

about

that

is

arriving

back

home,

taking

off

my

headphones,

and

sitting

on

our

front

steps.

These

days,

no

one

is

on

the

road

at

night,

no

one


is


walking

around.



We


have

fake


torches

on

the

sides

of

the

steps,

and

it

reminds

me

of

Halloween

jack o lanterns,



of

9 pm


after

an

evening

of

collecting

bags


of

candy

After


a

run



one

night,

I


looked

up



at


the

sky

and

saw

a

shooting

star.

I

like


to

think

about


how


quickly

it

moved.

I've


never


seen

anything

so


fast.

the


that

right

here,


this


house,

is


for.

The

things



on

the


shelves

have


been

there

for


years.

My

family


likes

to

collect,




and

I've

learned


to

collect

too.


Collection

feels


safe,

and

I


like

to


surround

myself

by




the


things


that

I



might

need

one


day,

because




you


never

know

when


that


one

day



will




come

and





you

need

that


thing.



I

like





to

have


so

many

pens,









because

even

though

I

only

use

one,

mostly,

I

always

like

the

option.

I

like


keeping

my


old






clothes

because






things

always







come





back

into

fashion.

My





mom

has

kept




all

of

her

old




clothes

and

I





love

wearing


them.

Maybe


someday


my

by.


kid

will




do

the

same.


I

like




to


keep

all


my

sketchbooks


and

paintings


and


drawings

becuase





I

like

to

see

how


far

I've


come.

I




like

to


keep


broken



cameras

and

other




broken

electronics

because



maybe

some

day


I'll


know

how


to

fix


them.

I

like


to

keep


all

of




my

jewelry


because

I

have



faith

that


the

tacky


stuff





will

make


a



comeback

and


will

be

edgy

again.

We

keep

old

helmets,

not

ever

having

a

real

reason

or

motive

to

throw

them

out.

Books,

scraps,

makeup.

I

have

figurines

that

I

keep

on

my

window

because

they

remind

me

of

when

I

was

young.

I

have

a

wooden

doll

there,

about

the

size

of

my

palm,

that

my

dad

brought

back

from

Sweden

years

ago.

It's

cute

and

I

think

that

it's

handmade.

I

keep

all

of

my

Indian

dresses

that

I

wore

when

I

was

younger.

Though

they

don't

fit

me

anymore,

I

have

no one

to

pass

them

on

to

and

I

could

never,

never

throw

them

out.

My

dad

keeps

all

of

our

old

phones

and

ipods,

and

occasionally,

we

pull

them

out

and

always

wish

that

we

still

had

slide

up

keyboards.

iphones

will

do

for

now.

From

the

office

upstairs

I

can

crack

a

window


open



and

hear


everything,

inside


and

out.

I




hear

the

birds,


my


own

typing


and

creaking,


dog

running.

I


want

to




be


my

house.


My

house

is

old

and

wise.

It



braces

tough

weather,

with

strong

winds


it

only

creaks




and

groans.


Even

when

the

rain

spits,


and

the

wind



screams,

it

holds.

The

weather

is

outside

on

a

suddenly


violent

Tuesday

morning,

when




the

sky



darkens

quickly


and


people

scurry

to

shelter.

The


weather


is



also




in

the



basement,

on

an


armchair,


screaming




and

crying.

Or


on

a

bed




on

the


second

floor,

churning



and


throwing.

Nonetheless,



the

house

has




learned


not

to

move.


No

matter

how


loud

and


strong

the

storms

are.




A

good


house

is

one



like

this,

that

has

absorbed

hatred


and

has

loved




in


return.

My



room

doesn't


get

much

sunlight.

My

brother's




gets


a

bit


more

in

the

morning,

which

is

a


shame

because

he

keeps




his

curtains

closed.

If

I



had

more

sun,


the

curtains

would

is

be

open

all

morning

and

I

would

never

leave

my

bed.

And

if

my

room

caught

some

afternoon

sunlight,

maybe

I

would've

learned

to

take

more

naps.

I

always

wished

that

my

house

were

warmer.

Winter,

to

me,

is

waking

up

early

in

the

morning

and

walking

barefoot

on

the

chilled

wooden

floor.

I've

been

going

on

night

runs,

when

the

sky

is

dark

and

the

streetlights

are

golden.

My

favorite

part

about

that

is

arriving

back

home,

taking

off

my

headphones,

and

sitting

on

our

front

steps.

These

days,

no one

is

on

the

road

at

night,

no one

is

walking

around.

We

have

fake

torches

on

the

sides

of

the

steps,

and

it

reminds

me

of

Halloween

jack o lanterns,

at

9 pm,

just

when

all

the

kids

have

finised

trick

or

treating

I

came

home

from

a

run

one

night,

and

looked

up

at

the

sky

and

saw

a

shooting

star.

I

like

to

think

about

how

quickly

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

experiences

and events

held onto so

tightly

that a

house built

for people

seems now

built for

memories

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house

is

an

aimless

but

intentional

collection

of

things.

experiences

and events



tightly


that a

house built

for people

seems now





built for

memories



A

house

is

an


but


of


things.



A

house

is


an


but

intentional


A

house

is


aimless




things.


house



but


of

things.

A

house

A


house

is




aimless

but



of

things.


A

house

is

an


but

intentional

collection

of

things.

A

house





intentional



collection

of

things.




an

aimless



intentional


things.