The yellow house


Photo : Paul Laurent Bressin

Everytime she was feeling blue
She thought of good old times in the yellow house
When winters were cold and bitter
She kept dreaming of the yellow house
If she was scared of something
She thought she was in the yellow house
Whenever she missed her loved ones
She looked at the pictures of the yellow house
If life was too hard on her
She snapped her fingers and pretended she was in the yellow house
In case the moon wouldn’t show up
She would think of the bright yellow wall that covered her house
The one where she was born, got married, gave birth and buried her husband
The house that welcomed her family, friends, pets and memories
All her life remains in the silence of the yellow house
« One day I will go back », she often said
But days became weeks and the weeks became months
Months turned into years and then…
Her hair went grey and her bones shrank
She got sick, she knew her time had come
When she saw the angel opening his arms
She closed her eyes and whispered
« Please, take me home to my yellow house. »

Filipa Moreira da Cruz


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