The gate squeaks with rust. The flowers are gone. The ponds are empty and dry. Ceilings droop. Everything seems dilapidated. A contrast to how things were in the past.
I went around. I can almost feel my mother's breath on the walls. I still see vividly how she and dad had kept everything perfectly cozy and comfortable.
I was teary-eyed, thankful one daughter was with me. I see life, I see death. I see people come and go. I see rise and fall, excellence and destruction. I see life's cycle.
None of us wanted the house. No one amongst the eleven. No one wanted to stay. We have carved our niche elsewhere under the sun.
And so the old house shall stay. Until blown away by seasons, dust and wind. But wherever we go, whatever we do... a part of us remains there.
#TillTheNextVisit....
by: Mary Sarah Georgie Generato Flores