cool feel of the twists and turns
sliding with glee down the bannisters
in this big, old, empty house

every day the house dreams
and every day the mood is different
some days the halls are happy and the walls sing
some days the walls absorb laughter cheerlessly.
Some days I do not play here at all.

it's my house.
I'm allowed to be here,
but sometimes the house doesn't want me.
So I run away and hide in the grass
until next time, when the tears have evaporated off the floor
the wallpaper has stuck itself back together
and the old mirrors shine.

No-one likes to be seen crying.
Not even my house.