There's a library on the first floor. If it calls to be a library. It rarely has books. What it does have is photo albums, a fireplace and two comfy chairs. Next to the library is a dining room. Which no one ever dines in, unless for once we would be having dinner at the same time, and unless we'd ever be more than 3 people at home at once. Next to these two rooms are the kitchen and the hallway.
I know these two rooms quite well.
Below the hallway is the cellar. The laundry room and storage room. Where the ceiling is so low you have to crouch even at my height, and where the spiders are the size of tennis balls. Also here I've been from time to time.
On the second floor there are four rooms. Bathroom. My room. Living room.
I know these three rooms quite well.
Then there is Mum and Dad's room. The one that used to be mine. The room I was assigned here is their old room. It looks, let's say, radically different these days. The Beatles, Poets of the Fall and James Dean are on the walls. All lamps are red. There's bookshelves (with real and many books), a bed, a sofa, a chair and a desk. All this stuff is mine.
Of our entire house, this is what I know best. In just the short time I've lived here, it's become my safeplace. My haven. I sleep here, compose here. Do everything in here.
With of course, short detours to the kitchen for snacks and the bathroom for, well, nature calls.
Feeling like a stranger in my own old house,
POET in the GLASS JAR
hmmm, you just have to settle in, that´s all :) home is always home, I suppose.
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