To her it was just a house,
but to me it was a lifetime.
The walls were built with memories,
the ceilings stretched into the galaxies.
The floors had endured the weight of my sorrow,
the doors were pathways into new tomorrows.
But to her it was just a house.
The walls were made with brick.
The ceilings crafted with wood.
The floors were imported tile, stained carpet, scratched wood.
The door had been replaced twice.
To me it was a lifetime.