under construction

The house that I build has many rooms. Only I live in it, and people can come visit, but only for a while.

There are rooms without windows, and hallways that I've only seen twice. Some rooms are filled with sunlight and children's laughter, others are kept locked by the weight of the tears that flood them. There is a big empty dance hall with cobwebs everywhere and wallpapered walls that have been painted grey. Nemorous anemones dwell in another, where Moorish arches, like the ones in La Alhambra wait to be touched by the sun.

There are two stairwells, on opposite sides, that lead to the coffers of lies. One for the innocent child, long lost and another for the present occupant of my soul. Everything is dusty, but lately most of the dust is new. I've started construction of a third wing - connected with bridges that will not allow unwanted memories to travel to where I am now, busy.