My Happy Home
You see a house haunted by the dead. A decaying derelict that should be brought down.
Where ghosts, ghoulies, and the boogeyman celebrate the evil that resides in the gloom.
I know what you see, but you’re wrong.
This is my home. A mansion filled with the laughter of children, and the truth that was my life.
Yes, I’m dead. But this place isn’t. It stands as a testament to survival and to my refusal to give up and hold tight that which was mine. For he belonged to me.
This home holds my memories of happiness, love, growth, and at times despair - but always love.
You can’t see the full picture, but I do.
I still see the forget-me-nots in bloom on the lattice of the back porch. I smile at the flutter of hummingbird wings as they search out the last drop of nectar from the flowers in an overflowing garden.
I remember my husband’s smile, and the joy we both felt when he carried me over the threshold of our first home together.
I recall the nights we made love as the moonlight streamed in the large bedroom windows, and the mornings we ate breakfast in bed unwilling to leave the other.
I’ll never forget my husband’s pride when our children were born and his shock when he found them dead in their beds.
His cheating heart needed punishing.
His plan to leave us thwarted, he returned to my arms.
Our last meal together, delicious but deadly.
Now we all reside here together forever.
My home built with love.
My family created in love.
Held dear and protected by me.
To you, it’s decaying and haunted, but in my eyes, it’s wholly happy and the most beautiful place on Earth.
Beware, for your intent to trespass is known, watched, and prepared for...
Turn around lest you end up part of the scenery.
Yolanda Renée © 2020
Photo by Gemma Evans on Unsplash
Photo by Mike Scheid on Unsplash
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Photo by Arisa Chattasa on Unsplash