At the dead of night, stairs creaking as you drag one foot in front of the other, the soft, waxed spruce cold underneath your socks… Rays of moonlight veil the drawing room, vacant of any restless movement, with a shimmering atmosphere that would enchant any onlooking eyes… The house is silent aside from your padded footsteps and the ticking of the mantel clock. The residents sleep soundly upstairs, refueling themselves for tomorrow’s next grand adventure.
You know your time in this house is limited. This house that you built on your own. One day it will be gone, and there is nothing you can do about it. You reminisce over some of those endearing moments over the past few months, and wonder if you can build it again. If you should build it again.
Writing in progress.