Apr 23
Every house I’ve ever built is still standing.
Every shelf I have ever made still holds.
They’re different now. Dusty but sturdy. Vacant but there.
Sometimes there’s no furniture left but a couch. No books but the marks of where they used to be. One soft place to land in a room for a while. One soft memory of what was.
A place to sit and stare at the love that used to live there. To rest your bones until you’re ready to leave again.
Sometimes I’m there. Sometimes I’m not. Sometimes you never needed me at all. Just the house I built. And the shelf I made.
It’s my gift.
To build the house. To make the shelf. And then to let them be what you need.
With or without me.
