entries· about· past· affies · follow

People pass by, and they see the house. They go, "Oh, what a nice house,"

So they decide to approach it,

And they decide it's even nicer up close so they try to open the door,

And they'll come in.

Then they see weird things. Things that I love. Mountains of books and Doctor Who and fandoms and God and stand-up comedy and other things that I'm really enthusiastic about,

And they don't know what to do.

So they leave.

Some of them go out and never look back.

Some of them linger and stare through the window, and they feel sad because they don't understand,

But some of them stay.

They go around the house and look around each room, taking in everything. Some of them start to understand and, even those who don't, stay anyway. This house is great, they'll say.

But even then, at one point they will all have to go. They have their own house to take care of. Or maybe someone cared enough to stay in their house. They will leave a mark in the house though. A teacup in the sink, a painting on the wall, a newspaper on the table. It will be there forever, but they won't,

And the house will be empty once more.

But I hope that one day, a special person will come in. He will go around the house, and he will sit on the couch and refuse to leave. He will stay there for so long, his house will become a part of mine. 

Then I will find it, and I would stay.

Then he would find me,

and we will live happily ever after.

My heart is like a house.