For Sale

There's a one-bedroom house down the street.

It's not an old house, though some may say

it's old for its age.

There's chipped paint and cracked bricks,

stains from rough weather,

and some holes in the walls

where a thousand words used to hang. 

It's been through a lot.

It'll make it through a lot more.

Spacious rooms are filled with sunlight,

while others are cluttered with knick knacks.

Some rooms have shadows and stuck doors.

It has quirks; squeaky steps,

windows that take a bit of work to open,

and some that open with a simple touch.

It's made of stories,

but there's only the one bedroom.

People come and leave; the front door

closed behind them in regret, or

slammed as they rush out.

The first person to live there didn't stay long,

just settled in and began looking elsewhere.

After a few short months of decreasing attention,

he left the house.

The next person didn't belong at all;

no, the squatter broke a front window,

forced his way in, took advantage

but gave no claim.

Didn't treat it as a home, just 

a temporary replacement

for the house he had lost.

And he was gone,

though he tried to break in again and again.

For awhile, there were just lookers,

offers were made, turned down, regretted,

taken back.

The first buyer came back, but only

out of selfishness, stayed,

giving less than before.

A storm blew through,

leaving incredible damage behind.

He was unable to find value in the house,

and so he moved on.

Someone else saw value, though.

He had put up an offer before.

Seeing the damage to the house he thought was beautiful

broke his heart.

He worked all summer repairing the house,

putting in time and dedication,

saving up, waiting,

until someone new rushed in and bought the house.

This house wasn't a true home to him,

it had work that he couldn't fix.

So he had to move out.

The bidder, buyer, was finally able to call this house his.

During his stay, little things broke,

needed fixing, and he fixed them, but

there were nights where he didn't come back.

The care of the house became harder,

and the brokeness became too much.

He moved out with a promise,

to one day return and make the house his home,

though promises lose credibility with time.

There's a one-bedroom house down the street;

people pass by, some seeing beauty

and some without a second glance.

It has its quirks, and its character,

and its broken parts, but

there's a one-bedroom home down the street.