People said I was the prettiest house on the block. Now, I’m falling apart. Windows are missing. Wallpaper is peeling— my floors creak.
Someone is knocking.
My door swings open.
“Anybody here?” A lady’s voice echoes through my walls.
I quietly listen.
Gripping the hand of a child, she cautiously enters.
“I want to go home,” the little boy cries.
“We are home,” the woman says.
My foundation rises. I settle.
Soon, I’ll be a pretty house again
I’ll transform to a home.