It’s been fifty years since our first house-warming, and it’s our first visit since the last twenty years.
These steps that I considered as nature’s gift to our house, have worn out unable to bear the weights of memories and repetitive human actions over time.
The flattened knob of the blue main door at the inside, remind my kids’ fast entry into the home from school, hitting it hard on the wall. The cushions on the old bamboo sofa look like flatbread slices filled with dust.
The rug at the entrance, when moved, portrays its duty of protecting the covered area in a bright brown colour, indicating the lost shine of the hardwood floor at other spots.
The front side of our room’s door holds the paw marks of our dog trying to enter its restricted area. A penny accidentally missed inside the cupboard has lost its lustre but still shows the year of minting.
The floor tiles on the way to the kitchen now show a path similar to the most trodden path in a dense forest, reminding us of the fastest way to find food. The knife has long forgotten its master. Yet, it holds the scar it was presented with, a bend in the middle that was a result of over-usage.
The water taps in the dining no longer serve the purpose, fearing the threats from their present tenant ‘rust’. However, the ceramic coffee cup left alone in the house as a punishment for having a broken handle, after all these years reminisce the stirring marks given to it by my loving spoon.
The compound wall which was once friends with the adjacent tree’s branch rubbing against the top of its wall still has those marks even long after its friend passed away.
The belongings left in this house are completely worn out. So are our skins, wrinkled with aging. But, do these make any difference to our happy memories of living in this home or our love of living together all these years?
The man in his late seventies typed and locked his digital journal before sleeping with his better half on their terrace.
To know more about the prompt, go through the guidelines, on her blog.