France in Focus

If any of my stories, make you smile or dampen your eyes, then I am happy.
Happy because I have reached you.
.
My House
.

I have lived here all my memories.

This house built because of me.

A child to be born.

The first of many to be.

And so it was built.

A happiness and a sadness ago.

Blurred memories followed by clarity.

Sisters coming and then a brother.

My Mother asking more of me.

My Father broken and tired.

I sleep at school.

And am punished.

Time.

My brother gone to a city for work.

My sisters married.

Not for love, but for existence.

My Father, long beaten by work, just a shadow.

And so I stay.

Time.

On my own now.

I have to share my house.

Strangers who care not to share their lives with me.

Ignoring me in their selfish lives.

They use my house, but I do not exist.

Time.

The one who lives here now is different.

A warmth.

A happiness.

I sit on the stairs and watch him.

He sees me.

I know he does.

Nobody has seen me before.

But he does.

I know because of a gentle turn of his head to me.

And his smile.

His eyes hold to mine.

And he says, I live here, but this house is yours.

I can sleep now.