It’s fancier, alright.
Marble counter separating the kitchen from the living room and the dining room.
New wood floors.
New custom-made dark chocolate leather couches with a chaise, recliner, and even a pull out bed.
The walls beautifully painted different colors.
The 70 inch flat screen TV and a fireplace underneath.



It was my new house.

They’d spent the five months renovating. But I kept getting the feeling of “not belonging.”
The floors, walls, the beautifully crafted china cabinet and 3-piece that has been in my house were gone.

I grew up with that stuff. People might say “Get over it.”
But how can I forget something I’ve grown up with?
My home is under this new house and I guess it always will be.
As they knocked the walls down and the plaster flew through the air, memories of my childhood were exposed.
As they nailed the new wood floor down, other memories were stifled.
A house is not home.

This house is not my home,
And I doubt it ever will be.