It’s supposed to be a home for somebody. A place where it brings warmth to the heart and a shield of protection around me from the harm in the world. That four digit code that was supposed to be inside my head forever has now been forgotten, lost with all the other thoughts of this place. The deep, brown wooden door was the only wall that separated myself from the world inside the house. The house with interconnecting hallways and rooms that never touched but could always hear one another and the secrets we shared.

Everytime my hand grips that cold handle, shivers are shot up my hand as they spread throughout my body, chilling it to the core. Too many hands have gripped this handle in this one lifetime. My arms pushed the old door open as it swung to the side as if saying “welcome home”. I see the staircase that I had walked up and down so many times The carpet molding to my feet as I walk forward towards the stairs that holds so many stories, the place where my mother had tumbled down and broken her leg, the place where my brother had tried to fly but fell and took a trip for repairs. This, the same place where I would drag my tired legs up every night after work, my spirits broken and tired from trying to make enough money to get to where I was today. I walked past an empty office, pausing only to imagine my father sitting in that enormous black chair. Papers are always scattered around, a mixture of bills, paperwork, photos, and array of objects and pens that had no jar or drawer to call home. Pictures were positioned on the wall, pictures of family and hope for a better future.

I saw the kitchen that held a simple table, just one table with a counter screwed around the walls. The table was empty. It contained no homework papers, book bags, bowl of fruit, or a simple glass. The only light that was shown was the light that the sun had decided to bestow upon the room, shedding the bright beam around. No dishes in the sink or food on the counter, the true sign of loneliness. The stairs hold stories of all their own. I could still hear the giggling as I walked up those stairs, remembering when I chased my brother and sister who were smaller at the time, believing I was a monster. Family photos coated the walls with fake smiles and people who I do not remember.

As carpet met wood, the ground suddenly became cold. I stare ahead of myself as I see three empty rooms. They were full just a few short years ago though that seems like a lifetime ago. Clothes no longer laid scattered on the ground, beds made as though no one has slept in them for a few years. Walls painted white with posters ripped down, no one has lived in these rooms for years. The soft noise of my shoes on the hardwood floor can be heard from every direction, bouncing off the walls. I walk past the tv that I rarely ever sat in front of, past the couch that I used to fall asleep on and magically awoke in my own bed with covers tucked around me. I stopped though when I arrived to the one room I could not step directly into. From the door ajar I can see every object and person clearly. The turquoise walls were illuminated by the rays of sun that snuck through the curtains. I saw the master bed in the center of the room with the covers tucked in tightly around the small wooden frame. The carpet seemed soft and unmoved. It was quiet inside but I saw the two people in the corner. The bigger figure sat in a recliner, struggling to see what was placed in front of him. I then averted my eyes to the silhouette that was curled up on the couch, their figure sinking into the cushions. Her soft, caring eyes looked up at my face. I was finally home.