Writers 
The House That Taught Itself to Breathe
With loud hands, the house was built.
Hammers.
Promises.
Paint that had a scent of fresh beginnings
and we were unable to identify the floor
when coffee fell on it.
With boxes and plans, we moved in.
and the kind of hope
that is unaware of leaks at this time.
We debated where the couch ought to go.
as if it were our most crucial decision ever.
It held us perfectly for a while.
Kept the rain out.
Kept the noise in.
The kitchen was taught our morning cries.
Pots.
Mugs.
the secret negotiation regarding who will get the last slice.
At midnight, the hallway remembered the weight of our steps.
Every disagreement and every arrangement was recorded by the walls.
and didn't tell anyone.
They simply held the echo
and later returned it to us in a softer tone.
Then came the seasons.
One of them broke the window we were going to replace.
The rooms that had been echoing were now silent thanks to another.
We patched as much as we could.
Other things were covered with paint.
We informed guests that "it's just settling,"
while we also learned to settle.
However, houses, like people, keep tabs.
When we were hurrying, the door began to stick.
Only when we were alone did the stairwell's light flicker.
We claimed to have cleaned every corner, but dust remained.
It wasn't inattention.
Time passed as it always does.
smooth edges from wear.
creating room for new dents.
The power went out one night.
No TV.
You can't scroll.
nothing but candles and our breathing.
The house also exhaled.
The way the wood stopped creaking to listen was how I heard it.
I didn't feel cruel because I could hear it in the way the cold found us.
We weren't fixing it for the first time.
We were only a part of it.
We discovered that a home does not consist of broken things.
It's the things that remain after they disappear.
the mug containing the chip.
the step with a dip.
On Sundays, the room that smells like soup.
the mark we used to measure growth on the wall
when we realized we were already tall enough,
we stopped measuring.
The house now shares our breath.
On the days that we fight, in.
Out on the occasions when we forgive.
It doesn't have to be brand-new.
All we need to do is make it ours.
Also, it is.
regardless of the crack.
particularly with the crack.
because that's how light gets in.
