House of memories

My floorboards creak as they walk across me, I try to support them best I can but I'm of a time before their birth, I'll be there in the time after their death. The shuffling of feet across the carpet at three in the morning as nocturnal children come out to play, grabbing forbidden delicacies from the fridge, that never quite fit. In the morning, I am bathed in light serenely serenaded by birds, basking in the feeling of the rising sun, true peace.

Alas, it's not meant to be I hear what gets said over the breakfast table, I feel my drawers slammed just tight enough to make a statement you dare not utter. The feeling of shoes decisively stomping up the stairs, music blaring, shaking the house in revolt. I hear the sounds of keyboards clacking into the late hours, venting, trying to explain why laundry folding habits have a secret meaning. I Wish I could bring you back to the serene morning, wishing you could feel the warm rays and hear the bluejays bring you some semblance of peace, or Allowing you to stomp out the feelings that crush your frail human chest. I am Here.