A Work in Progress

So here we are. This is our first house, and everytime I walk through it, I fall in love. Even with the imperfections. This house was built in 1938, and I wonder about all the people who have lived here before us.

I am washing you away. I bought your house today, the little brick cottage in the heart of the city. I am scrubbing the wood floors on my hands and knees. I am washing away your footprints, the footprints of your children. I am claiming this as my own. I scrub down cupboards, the cupboards you once put your dishes in. I dig up the garden in the back, the garden you once fed your children from. All day long I think about you, who you might have been, why you left this place, and where you are now. I erase your fingerprints from the sink handles, and replace them with my own.