The house

Something I wrote after my father and stepmother divorced:

I passed by the place I once called home. The house looked nearly the same as it had when I had lived there so long ago. I pass it by, but can never find the courage to go in. The Christmas lights still hung from years earlier, we put them up, but never got around to taking them down. I can see the tree out back that my brother and I used to climb; it was the only one left. We’d cut the rest down over the years. As they would grow too large we would chop them down, leaving logs for the holiday fires.

I remember the times when we had watched movies and played games, as a family. It seems that once I moved from the house, I moved from all things in it.
I liked the house, but it wasn’t the house that made it a home. Although as I pass it now it seems to be nothing more than a faint memory, full of the people that I once cared so much for. I can remember the joys of my childhood; me and my sibling would wrestle with our father, us learning to ride bikes, climb trees. These things that seemed so important when I was a child are now just footnotes in a closed book.

Things had changed, new cars now replace the old. The garden that once grew berries is nothing more than a pile of dirt.
This is the one place I’ve ever considered home, and now it seems more distant than the neighbors I’d never met. The family that I had known and loved have changed. No longer family, just acquaintances. This was my dream home with my dream life, the perfect family. Everything before was painful, but this, this was perfect.

Looking back it never was my home, it never was my family. Despite my best effort I got there too late, forever an outcast. But it was better then, it was everything I needed.

It’s hard to see them now. The perfect family split up because one woman wasn’t enough. Things never went back to normal. They are still happy, I’m still the outcast, but it’ll never be the same. While it will never be perfect again, I wish them well in the house that used to be home. 

Remember to smile,
Hipster Harrison


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