Your house isn't your home, but your home is joy

My house is so full of love from the past and current occupants. My home, however focuses solely on the present. My home consists of music from my favorite musicals and all of my water color pictures. As for my family, it has my Mum, my Pa, and my two dogs, Neptune (1), and Pluto (5). Inside my home there's my room which has so many books and notebooks that it's particularly a library. In the foyer there's the acoustic piano that's missing a A key and in the kitchen there's the wood stove that sometimes does its job too well, and makes the kitchen feel like it is a wood stove. On the other side of those big glass windows, there's the fire pit and the thorny raspberry bushes that Pluto loves to pick. My house is made of plaster and wood, but my home is made of, not warmth but a comfortable and cozy temperature, and of course, my family. I feel that if I went into the walls of my home and looked at all the past memories it would be like plunging into the deep end when you can't swim, or more dramatically, the Mariana Trench uncertain if you'll ever return. As most of the memories left behind are not happy ones, as they would have taken the good ones with them and left the bad ones here to be forgotten. I feel that, if you listen hard enough, you can hear joy echoing around. I think it sounds like a page turning, or rain falling. Maybe it sounds like the organized chaos of an orchestra. Or maybe even the pure silence of a blizzard. If joy had a smell it would smell like rain, or chlorine, or new Ikea furniture. Thank you habitat for humanity, for making houses for people to build their home in. I think that only you can build your home.