My tenants gave notice they’re moving to Vegas. I see it as a sign to take a gamble myself and finally put that house on the market. *laughs at myself*
But the truth is, being a landlord can be a draining experience if you don’t have good tenants. Even more so if you’re emotionally invested in a house they couldn’t care less about. Luckily, I’ve been fortunate to find people that understood how much I cared for that special space.
I loved that house. The walls knew laughter and the floor echoed the pitter-patter of puppy paws and wobbly first baby steps. It was ours and we made it our home. It was like our giant treehouse, we fought our silly battles, communicated with cans and string, but hand-in-hand we found our way with flashlights through the dark.
And then he was gone.
I couldn’t stay.
There were ghosts in every room.
The cost much too great a price to pay.
We all know memories are not held in a house, but in a heart. So now that piece of history is for sale, and I will keep the moments I choose to remember. Because even though we danced barefoot in that backyard, I know those blades of grass won’t bring him back. Those walls won’t replay the laughter, and the doors cannot take me back in time.
So I paint new walls
As I allow myself to laugh.
Let the past be the past
And start dancing on fresh green grass.
I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.
— Maya Angelou