A Home At Last

I felt like an empty shell. For years I had watched my empty halls through my keyholes, they were as dead silent as outer space. I was the only house in the neighborhood that wasn’t a home. Throughout the long, dull days, I watched as families were having lots of fun playing inside and outside of other houses. During the countless crisp, cold nights, I wished for hours on end to be a home. All I wanted was to have a pleasant mess in my empty rooms, and to have the noises of family cheer ringing through my halls. The more I dreamed of being one, the stronger my desire to be a home grew. One beautiful sunny day, my wish finally came true. A car drove up on the driveway and a family hopped out, as excited as fish in a new tank. It was a family of five people, a dad, a mom, two boys and one girl. They opened my doors and were like curious koalas as they explored me. They ecstatically put their heavy luggage down with their prized toys in my no-longer-so-empty rooms and slept in sleeping bags by my cozy fireplace. A few days later, a moving truck arrived. The family rushed to it as fast as cheetahs and started unloading it. They eagerly assembled their beds in my rooms and got their television and cooking equipment out. As they unpacked more and more, I started feeling more like a home than an empty house. The more love shared between them, the more I felt like a home. I am no longer just a house, now I am a home.