This is actually my childhood home. I miss it. I loved the house when I was growing up. It offered security and shelter. It offered a modified sense of family. I guess I felt loved when I lived there–when I wasn’t railing at either myself or my step-mother. Or at the crappiness of society in general.

I can’t tell you how much time I spent in my bedroom, writing and doing other anti-social activities until my step mom told me to get my butt outside and do some gardening for her. (Bleh) Or scrub down the shower with some toxic stuff that made my eyes water up. Or just get some fresh air.

I digress.

I wish I could buy it and make it mine again. I wonder if I would feel as safe and loved if I had the house again.